The Road Not Taken
by Personification of Fluff
Summary: MS. What if Miroku had followed the shakujo down the right path? How would he have met Sango? Without the burden of her family's death, would Sango warm up to his advances, or is there nothing more to MirSan than the joy of antagonising each other?
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **The Road Not Taken

**Author: **Personification of Fluff

**Rating: **PG-13, to be on the safe side and for Miroku's lecherous behaviour

**Disclaimer:** I love Miroku-sama. I love him so much, I found my own pervert. So I don't own Miroku, I don't make money on fanfics (and with this being my 40th+ story, I am not ashamed to admit that I lament that fact), but I am more than proud to admit to having a Miroku-act-a-like.

**Summary:** In history, there is a certain field which does nothing but ask 'what if'? Like, 'What if the Berlin Wall had never been torn down', 'What if JFK had never been assassinated?' or 'What if the landing at Normandy had failed?'. Although it does come under some heavy critique from "real" historians, the 'what if' is a fun question to ask. Fan fics have used it quite well, and this is my foray into that particular genre of fanfiction. It's the canon setting, but for one difference.

What if, in the episode when Miroku is introduced Miroku follows the path pointed to him by his staff instead of shifting the shakujo to the left fork after hearing men talk about a beautiful woman? How would it have impacted his relationship with Sango? I present my view of it here, and I hope you all enjoy it.

As for the name of this fic, it comes from a great poet, Robert Frost. If you don't know Frost's work, go look them up. The name comes from one of his most famous poems (or at least the one I best know Frost for) of the same name. The last three lines are really inspirational to this fic: "Two roads diverged in a wood; and I--/I took the one less travelled by/And that has made all the difference".

Originally, I was waiting to hear back from my beta before I posted this, but that was months ago I sent her that. It was probably unfair of me to ask her to read it over and give me her thoughts, given the other workload on her plate. So now I am posting it. Please, be gentle. (_les_ _winks_)

Enjoy!

* * *

The Road Not Taken

Part One

"This one is still alive!"

The demon slayer was leaning over the body of a young man. His was bloody, his clothes ripped and barely recognizable, but he was still breathing. It was shallow and raspy from between his dried and split lips, and more of the man's energy seemed to be diverted to keeping his right hand closed around the prayer beads encircling his fingers and wrist than on breathing. The women the demon slayer had spoken to leaned over him, a small frown creasing her otherwise pretty face.

"He looks like a monk," she noted, glancing at the remains of his clothes. She turned away from him, looking at the rest of the damage to the village. No one else they had found had survived. Those who hadn't been consumed completely by the demons that had attacked the village had been injured so badly they had bleed out, left to rot in the fields and their houses. "He must have been blessed by Buddha to have survived this massacre. Bandage him up. We'll take him home with us until he can recover."

She walked away, shaking her head in an attempt to relieve her pounding headache. In a moment an older man caught up alongside her. His arm slipped around her shoulders comfortingly. "I'm sorry that your first attempt to lead, Sango, is going this way."

"Thank you," Sango said quietly, glancing around. "I wish I had been here in time to have caught the demons who did this. But then my men might have died under my own command. I don't know which is worse: feeling bad that there's nothing to fight, or happy that none of my men died this way. Instead," she humphed, "there are innocent women and children are dead because their message for help arrived to late to do anything. At least if I had something to fight I could defeat it. I like things I can fight. What am I going to say to that man when he wakes up and finds out that the rest of his village is dead?"

The man paused thoughtfully. "Why not let your father deal with it? It's only your first command, Sango. Perhaps he may be more willing to accept it if he finds out from your father. You know many of the local other tribes have problems with the way we raise our women. You don't want to alienate him first off the bat. The monk must have been strong to survive the attack. He could be a powerful ally."

"Yes." Sango sighed, pushing her long ponytail over her shoulder. "We need all the allies we can get. We still haven't uncovered the reason for the increase in demon attacks the last few weeks. If he is a monk, then he may be able to help us." She slowly smiled at the grey-haired man, and, after a quick glance around, leaned into his arm and hugged him tightly. "Thank you, uncle."

She broke the contact before others could see her hug her uncle. Her hand gripped tightly to the rope of the large weapon slung over her shoulder, she walked away.

* * *

He dreamt, remembering. He remembered the scent of burning homes and the terrified screams of the villagers. He remembered the scent of blood heavy in the air and the smell the demons gave off, of rotting flesh and something alien to him, something all demons gave away. He remembered running from the inn where he was staying, flirting with the innkeeper's daughter, and trying to help them fight off the attacking demons.

He remembered grabbing the beads encircling his wrist and pulling, unleashing a torrent of winds. The villagers stood shocked and amazed as the demons were pulled into the wind, racing towards the monk, and then vanishing into nothingness. Miroku's legs had throbbed with the effort of standing, soon. He was wearing himself out. It took a lot of will and strength the remain in that pose, not letting his hand waver—when he had first gotten the kazaana, he had had nightmares about his fingers curling into it and pulling himself into it because he was too weak to even use the kazaana.

He held it for another three minutes before his energy left him. He had fallen to his knees then, his skin damp with sweat. Despite the number of demons he had swallowed, there were still far too many. He reached for the staff next to him in the dirt, holding the gilded weapon with a shaking hand. Miroku cursed himself for his weakness and prayed that he would survive to continue his family's mission. But even as he stood on weary knees to face the demon horde, he knew that he would not survive the battle.

The village was lost. He held his ground for less than two minutes, far too outnumbered. Had they been rushing at him one on one, he knew he could have lasted longer, but they were rushing at him in groups of three or four. The last thing he remembered was a hulking arm knocking into his chest and sending him flying through the air. He had crashed through the wall of an already dilapidated house and the ceiling landed on him. He had failed his family. He was dead.

And when he remembered all, he realized he could remember and he awoke, shooting up in bed so fast that his vision blurred and his stomach revolted in protest. He could see sunlight, but little else. He began to cough, fighting to keep down the contents of his stomach. Callused hands pressed a bowl into his hands before it was too late. Miroku wretched until his throat burned. The callused hands slowly pressed him back down into bed when he tried to stand up, the world still a glowing blur. A finger pressed against his lips when he tried to speak.

"Your wounds were infected." The voice was female. It was, he thought deliriously, an enchanting voice. Feminine, and soft and quiet, but husky at the same time. "Sleep, and rest until the fever passes. You're safe here, Houshi-sama..."

He tried to speak, but sleep was already pulling him under. He squeezed his right hand. He could feel holes in the cloth covering his hand, but the beads were still intact. He held it tightly, wondering if the woman knew how close to death she was sitting. They had rescued a ticking bomb from the wreckage of that village.

He had so many questions to ask, but his mouth would no longer work. Knowing that the kazaana was still bound, he willingly collapsed back into sleep.

* * *

Sango picked up the bucket on the ground, wrinkling her nose a little. Vomit was nothing new to her. She had inflicted more stomach wounds on demons than she could count, so what was a little vomit to her? It was a good sign. The monk was gaining consciousness. That was the first time that he had woken up since they had brought him back a week ago. Maybe now that he was awake the vomiting would stop and they could move him from liquids to soft foods.

"Sango! How is he?"

She turned down the hallway and motioned for her little brother to be quiet. Kohaku sheepishly covered his mouth with both hands and tip toed down the rest of the hallway.

"He woke up just now. He's fallen asleep again, but it's a sign that the fever his breaking."

"Good!" The freckled boy smiled, revealing a gap between his front teeth. "Dad has a guest—someone who says he wants to hire our services. He's asked you to go and join him in the conference room at your earliest convenience."

"Me?" Since Sango had gotten back, she'd done little but look after the monk. She had to admit that she felt some level of personal responsibility for him. It had been under her command that he had been brought back, and under her command the group had gone out to the village in the first place. She would look after him the way she would look after one of her own people.

Kohaku nodded. "He says that you might find it interesting and wants you to listen in on the conversation. I'm supposed to be there, too. I'll see you there, okay?"

"Sure," Sango said uncertainly.

After disposing of the container, she quickly freshened up, washing her hair and her body and dressing in fresh clothes. Although she wasn't vain, she was the daughter of the chief and she didn't want to embarrass her father. She dressed simply, pulling back her wet hair with a white ribbon. On the floor in her bedroom lay a small bag with a drawstring pouch. Sango opened it and dropped a shard into the palm of her hand. She pushed it around, feeling a tingle where it passed.

It was a shard of the shikon no tama, a jewel crafted in her village so long ago no one could quite recall when. Sango had discovered a shard of it when she had taken on a demon only a few days ago in a nearby village. She hadn't told her father about it yet. As she watched the sunlight catch the edge and dance along the shard in a silvery, blazing line, Sango dumped the shard back into the bag and sealed it tightly. Opening her yukata enough to slip her hand in, Sango slipped the bag into a hidden compartment sewn into the inside of her clothes. She didn't want to let it out of her sight.

Hurrying to the meeting, she arrived slightly flushed, bringing spots of color to her cheeks. Her father and her brother were kneeling around a low table, sipping cups of tea. The stranger sat across the table from them, also sipping tea. She eyed him as they entered, always wishing to be aware of her surroundings. He didn't appear to be much of a fighter. He was good-looking, with long black hair that curled into tight waves at the bottom and heavily lashed eyes. But the eyes were cold and hard. She watched as they narrowed at her when she entered, focussing on her chest. Then they softened a little as they eyed the rest of her body, his smirk turning appreciative.

Her father didn't acknowledge her presence or introduce her, nor offer her tea. It was not done out of disrespect. At seventeen years old, Sango was his shadow, going everywhere he did and copying everything he did. Her father simply didn't need to acknowledge her, as if needing to excuse her presence around the table. Sango didn't need an excuse to be there; she simply was.

"You were telling me about the demon you need killed," her father said, drawing the man's attention from Sango.

"Not actually a demon," the handsome man purred in a deep voice. "A hanyou. His name is Inuyasha. If you recall correctly, he was a demon who, fifty years ago, tried to steal the Shikon jewel from a priestess named Kikyou."

"Ah yes. I believe, however, that she was able to imprison him."

"You are correct. Recently the young priestess' spell was broken by a new priestess who became enamoured of the hanyou. Now Inuyasha is free. Already he tried to take the jewel, but it was shattered in the attempt. With the priestess at his side, Inuyasha now hunts down the shikon shards. You can imagine the danger this presents. Inuyasha is strong—wilful and stubborn—and he is aided by a gifted priestess. The more shards they collect, the stronger he will become. We must avert this disaster."

The chief breathed in deeply and reached out to take a sip of tea before he spoke again. "How would you plan on subduing this demon?"

The other man smiled and his gaze slowly returned to Sango. She was reminded of the way a snake moved when it was about to strike and had to repress a shudder when those eyes landed on her face, slipping down to her chest on occasion. Her back stiffened when she realized that they weren't looking at her chest, but at the hidden pocket where she was hiding the jewel shards.

"I have heard much about your daughter, Master Shiro. She is able to handle her own in battle. If the stories I have heard are true, I have no doubt that she could take care of the hanyou herself. It would be my pleasure to personally aid her in the attempt."

She noticed her father turning to her, his eyes asking her a silent question. Sango stared down at her hands as she debated. This... Inuyasha could indeed pose to be a problem, and she knew it would be the most logical to take care of it, but she didn't like the man. She didn't want to be alone with that man! And then there was the matter of the monk laying on the mat in the guest room of their house. The fever was just breaking. When she thought of him all she could remember was the color of his eyes. They were such a beautiful shade of blue.

Sango found herself shaking her head. She didn't want it. It reeked to her, and she had more important things to do than hunt down some hanyou.

"I'm afraid that my daughter declines your offer. Perhaps we may reach some other agreement."

The other man leaned back. "Perhaps we may..."

* * *

This time he did not dream. He fantasized. He was awake enough to know there was someone else in the room with him, but his eyes were too heavy to open. He fantasized that it was the girl who had spoken to him before. He fantasized that she was a princess, with long brown hair pulled up into a complicated knot that showed off the curve of a graceful, swan-like neck, and pretty, long-lashed brown eyes. But how could he then explain the callused fingers that touched him? So he made a more realistic fantasy.

He dreamt that he had been saved by a farmer's daughter—perhaps one of the village girls he had so often flirted with. Her fingers were soft and gentle despite the calluses. He dreamt she had long brown hair that he could run his hands through without fear of mussing up her hair, and he dreamt that she had brown eyes that were realistic and level rather than hopeful and lost. He dreamt she had a body tempered by hard work, the kind of woman who could give him a well-kept home and children—oh, children!

Before he even knew it, his eyes were opening, eager to see the woman who cared for him. Everything was too bright and he winced at the light, raising a hand to cover his face until the pain passed.

"Your eyes will adjust," that husky feminine voice promised him. "If you feel courageous enough, drink this." A cup was pressed into his hands.

Miroku realized that he was thirsty. He guzzled the drink down before he noticed that it was a sweet fruit juice laced with herbs. Female hands pulled his hands back to keep him from greedily drinking it all in one large gulp. When the juice struck his stomach, for a moment he felt it revolt, finding it far too sweet for his normal tastes, but then it settled.

"What was in it?" he asked, carefully sipping the rest as he sat up in his mat.

"Just herbs," came the reply. "They were meant to help increase your immune system in case the poison is still hiding in your body, as well as some bark-oil to help numb any pain you may be experiencing now that you're awake. You've been asleep for quite some time, Houshi-sama."

"Miroku." He set down the empty glass and sat up all the way. The clothes against his sculpted chest felt fuzzy—they were not his own.

His vision was returning. He could see that he was in a bed room, tastefully decorated. It was neither poor, nor rich. He wore clothes that were far too big for him—a father or a husband's perhaps? Glancing around, he could not find his shakujo near him. Had his old weapon not been found? His heart wrenched in panic as he glanced at his hand. Only the cloth that covered his palm and the beads were still present. The body of the glove was gone, and gauzy bandages still covered a large cut along the back of his forearm.

Then he saw the girl—the young woman, really. His fantasies had not done her justice. Miroku found himself staring, taking in her long hair as he fell softly over her shoulder, her tanned skin, her long-lashed eyes that were real and level and fierce, though just now the soft smile on her face eased the harsh lines and made her appear almost matronly. Her lips were soft and pink, full. He tried not to think about them to much, but his heart tightened when he saw a small, white scar at the corner of her bottom lip, marring the otherwise perfect curve of her mouth. He suddenly wished to kiss that scar better. As he stared at her, he saw others, almost hidden by the color of her skin. His eyes moved up to hers and he held them as long as he dared. It reminded him of staring into the eyes of a wild animal, wondering when the animal would spring.

"My name is Miroku."

Instantly, the face changed. It was a subtle change, but he could see her eyes harden slightly. It was not done out of hatred or offence, but defence. "Houshi-sama," she repeated.

"But I don't know who you are," the monk continued when she didn't introduce herself in return.

"My name is Sango."

This time it was his turn for his expression to change, belying the dance in the pit of his stomach hearing her name. Sango. What a beautiful name. "I meant that I don't know you. You're not a member of the village I was last in. Where am I? How did I get I get here?"

"Oh. Um... Houshi-sama, were you a member of the village you were last in?" He watched as her tense shoulders relaxed with relief when he shook his head no. "I regret to tell you this, Houshi-sama, but you and the messenger who was recuperating here are the only survivors from the demon-raid on the village. One of my men found you when we went to try and help fortify the village against the impending attack. However, we arrived too late. The village had already been decimated. We bandaged your wounds and brought you back here. You've been asleep since then. It was over a week ago. Your wounds had become infected, but you've finally managed to beat the sickness."

Miroku's face felt cold. "I... I'm the only one left?"

Sango nodded. She was about to speak when she suddenly felt his hands close gently around hers. She was startled to see him so close, and felt trapped by his eyes. He had such beautiful and expressive eyes. The pity she saw there was almost palpable it was so real. Those eyes, she thought, were dangerous eyes.

"I'm so sorry."

"Why are you apologizing to me?"

"Because." The man gave her hands a brief squeeze and then let them go. "You're the same woman who was with me before. I might not have been able to see you, but I recognized your voice. You worked so hard to save me, but it was all for naught. You've saved to save a man who is already dead." He sighed heavily and then seemed to perk up a little. "And you've given me a second chance. For that, Lady Sango, I will always be in your debt. Name anything and it is but yours."

Sango felt her face blushing. She fought to control it and was more than happy when the monk began to speak again. "You said that you and your men found me. Pardon my curiosity, but who are you and your men that... oh yes. The villagers had said something about asking the demon-slayer village for help. You are a taijiya, then?" She nodded. "I was not aware that women led the expedition."

"Normally they don't. Our women are trained in combat, yes, but they tend to remain behind while the men are out, for we need someone to defend our village, crops, and children if the men are away. However, my father is the leader of this village. My younger brother may be the one to take over his place when my father dies, but I am still the eldest and a descendant of Midoriko. It is my duty to lead. Even if I never get the chance, I need the practice to prepare myself for any eventuality."

He was staring at her appreciatively. "Midoriko... I have heard that name before."

"She was the priestess who originally made the shikon jewel." Miroku nodded, unprepared for her next words. "Jewel pieces which _you_, Houshi-sama, are carrying around."

He jumped in surprise. His bare hand flew to the shoulder where they were hidden. The skin was unbroken. They had not dug the shards he held out of his arm. He almost hated the soft smile on Sango's face at that second as she silently laughed at his reaction.

"I take it that you purified them yourself? You're lucky then. The demons that attacked you weren't incredibly smart or perceptive. Had they the ability to sense purified jewel shards, they would have attacked you and ripped you apart to get to them. Your village wasn't the first one to be attacked by these monsters. Many villages have reported a horde of demons encroaching upon their lands. Some times we were able to frighten the demons off by slaying enough of them. We've had to leave stations at the surviving villages in case they were attacked again. It has spread our resources rather thinly."

She paused. When he didn't say anything, she shifted her weight to a more comfortable position. "May I ask you something, Houshi-sama?"

"Certainly, Lady Sango."

Blushing fetchingly, Sango motioned to the beads on his hand. "The glove... the beads... I know of no tenants that call for one's hand to be bound. When you were sleeping... you wouldn't let go of it. You kept your hand clenched so tightly, sometimes I worried you would hurt yourself. You often times spoke when you were sleeping, and more than one time you spoke of your hand, as well as someone named... Naraku, and of a wind-tunnel..." She stopped mid-sentence, finding the way he stared at her unnerving. Yes, she thought. Those eyes _were_ dangerous. "Never mind. It's inappropriate of me to ask. I am curious, though, and perhaps one day you will tell me."

"Perhaps," he agreed after a moment of hesitation. "But if I do, Lady Sango, then I'm afraid you would fall in love with me."

She shook her head. "I'm not nearly that easy or fickle, Houshi-sama. It would take more than a tale to make me love a man."

He smiled enigmatically. Sango avoided his gaze and got up, promising to go and fetch him some food while he was awake enough to eat. When she left, she headed straight outside for fresh air. The air in Miroku's bedroom had seemed hot and stuffy. Her cheeks wouldn't stop burning. Why had he smiled at her like that? The smile had disturbed her—but not badly. It hadn't been ferocious or dangerous—well, perhaps a little dangerous. The man she had seen earlier in the meeting room had an incredibly frightening smile. This had been nothing in comparison. Nothing.

But if there had been no reason behind that smile, then why wouldn't her heart beat slow down?

* * *

After she had gone, Miroku lay back down in bed, thinking about her. He didn't mean to think about her, but Sango kept invading his thoughts regardless.

He had dreamt of a princess and then or a simple farm girl. Sango was neither and yet, in a way, both. She was a person of importance in her village, obviously well-educated from the way she spoke. But she also had the tanned skin and strong body from physical work. She was at once a familiar, understandable figure, and also enticingly different, a combination he couldn't quite fathom.

The way she had at once blushed prettily, lowering her eyes demurely and yet keeping them locked on him was intense. His heart had stopped beating as soon as he had seen that expression. And he had seen her walk away—she had a backside he could look at all day.

Miroku had flirted with many women. He had flirted with princesses and paupers, farm girls and city girls, newly wedded woman and premenstrual woman. If it was female, Miroku had flirted with it, unless it was past the age of childbirth. That was truly his only stipulation, for he wanted a woman who could bear him a child. He had known attraction and fondness, tenderness and adoration—even love. There had been one young girl so entirely filled with hope and devotion that Miroku found some part of him loved her for those qualities, the way one may love a younger sister or a cousin. But the feelings that squeezed his heart and made it hard to breathe when he thought of Sango were different and it scared him. It scared him because he knew what the feeling was.

Love.

Not the kind he had felt for others. This was so much deeper he could feel it in the pit of his stomach, warm and comforting and sickening all at once. As soon as he had seen her, he knew he wanted her, even if he didn't know why. And as they had spoken he realized he was growing to respect her as well. When she blushed he wanted her to do it again. When she smiled he felt himself stand taller at being the object of her gaze. When she glared at him it made him want to hide and laugh and be chased—no woman ever chased him, but Sango would do it if he angered her enough.

He had a crush on Sango. God help him, he might even be _in_ love her.

Miroku looked down at his gloved hand, fingering the smooth surface of the beads that bound his palm and wrist. He could feel himself being pulled into two. At once he wanted to love Sango, courting her the way she deserved and telling her all his secrets and then leaving her, coming back home maybe in a year triumphant and able to live the rest of his days with her, and the rest of him needed to push her away, to keep her from ever gaining more respect than what she had already stolen from him, lest both of them be hurt.

He sighed, curling up into a tight ball and staring at his hand.

Maybe he was getting too old. Choices had never seemed so hard. What was he going to do?

He remembered two weeks ago, when he had met a fork in the road. He had thrown down his staff and let Buddha lead him where he was destined to go. It had pointed to the right path. When other travellers had talked about a great beauty down the left road, Miroku nearly changed the staff, but he remained adamant. He may have wanted a child to continue his heritage, but stopping Naraku would give him all the time in the world to father and raise an heir. Given the choice between the left road, the beautiful woman, and the right path leading to Naraku and the bane of Miroku's life, he would take the right.

But for a painful moment, he wondered what would have happened if he had taken the left.

* * *

End of Part One


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Miroku seemed to recover quickly. The following day he asked to see the village. Sango seemed happy to oblige. Miroku was slow-moving, but sturdy, and he didn't complain when his brow became damp with sweat. Sango noticed, however, and suggested they take a break beneath a tree to watch some of the men train with weapons. The smile she received in return for the suggestion was worth it.

Reclining on the lawn, they watched the men spar each other, a few women also taking a break from their housework to join in the training. Miroku watched it appraisingly.

"All of your women are trained like this?" he asked Sango. The woman nodded. Miroku arched an eyebrow, interested, and turned back to the training field. He paused, and Sango knew that he had another question; he was just working up the nerve to ask it. It took only a moment longer for him to gather the courage. His blue eyes were a stormy kind of grey when he faced her. "How good are you?"

She shrugged. "Good enough. I've been trained to carry around a sword since I was about the same size it was, but it's not my chosen weapon. I prefer ranged weapons and letting Kirara take care of the rest. Oh—that's right. You haven't met Kirara. She's around here somewhere. She comes and goes as she pleases, but she never goes very far. I'm sure she'll seek you out eventually. She checks out everyone who comes through our gates."

"Your weapons seem strange to me."

"They are made out of parts of demons. The demons we kill can sometimes be very large. Rather than letting the body just rot, we scavenge it for whatever we can get: bones for weapons, poison sacks, scales for armour, sometimes even meat for food. Plus, demons have very tough skins and their fortitude is unlike anything we humans can achieve. Sometimes the only thing that can pierce the outside of a demon is the tooth of another demon."

Miroku was nodding. "Nothing usually remains of the demons I fight for that to be a worry for me," he muttered. Louder he then changed the topic of conversation before Sango could ask what he had meant. "What else are the women of your village trained to do?"

"Fight, raise children, cook, clean, keep house, tend to the gardens and other farming jobs... some of the daughters of the smiths even learn how to temper steel or stock forges to help their fathers with their jobs. What we learn changes based upon the jobs of our families. We have to be able to know how to run the village when our husbands or fathers or brothers are away, so we learn everything. I hear women in other villages are trained in dance or flower arranging. We learn practical things."

"Flower arranging is a practical thing," Miroku argued quickly—too quickly. "How else would you make look your look pleasant or bring honour to your husband?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. Miroku gulped audibly, feeling as if he was going to be swallowed. "I would bring honour to my husband by keeping the house intact while he was away. I'd bring honour by defending his children. And you're assuming that I even have the slightest inclination in wanting to wed. I'm seventeen year old, Houshi-sama. Had I wished, I may have been married as many as two years ago, but I chose not to wed."

"Why not?"

She shot him another glare and turned away, her lips tight. The small scar on the corner of her mouth was even more visible from the taught skin. Sango's voice was just as constricted. He had overstepped his bounds and he knew it, but he hadn't been able to help it. He liked teasing Sango. It was fun. It was dangerous. That was why it was fun.

"Is there anything else you want to see, Houshi-sama?"

"I'd like the see anything related to Midoriko." He smiled at her kindly, wondering why she seemed curious of his smile. Could she perhaps see past it and wondered at his ulterior motives? "The legend of the jewel interests me, as does the life of the priestess. You see, my own past somewhat involves the jewel, and so I have my own investment in knowing about how it was formed. Knowledge is power, Lady Sango."

"The resting place of the priestess is located on the top of the hill. It's a long climb, but not very steep. Do you think you can make it?"

He nodded. "I'd hate to lower myself in your eyes by making you carry me, Lady Sango. My pride will keep me moving even if my energy gives up. I'm stronger than you seem to think. Perhaps when I am fully healed, you will do me the honour of engaging in friendly combat with me. I would like to see what you consider 'good enough'."

At that Sango smiled, standing up and dusting off her clothes before offering him a helping hand up. He took it, and she was a little surprised to find that his hands were just as callused as hers were. His grip was strong and firm. She wondered at the grip in his hands. They were working hands. They were hands with a story behind them, and she wondered what it was.

"It's your funeral, Houshi-sama."

* * *

"So that is Midoriko," Miroku noted when he had caught his breath. He was sitting on the rocky ground in the cave overlooking the demon slayer's village, breathing heavily. Sango was pretending not to notice, for which he was grateful. She hadn't been lying when she had said that it was a long hike to reach the cave. He stared up at the statue. "She's..." 

When his voice trailed off, Sango stepped closer to the statue, staring up at the twisted, mummified face in loving respect. "She's beautiful. You can see her bravery even when she's like this. She's locked forever in combat with the demon. How much bravery it must have took to do that! It doesn't matter that her body is mummified, or what she made have looked like in the past when she was alive. Seeing her like this makes you appreciate the great acts she did. It makes you respect her, and that's when you have to acknowledge it: Midoriko is beauitful."

He was staring at them both with a new respect on his face. "You come here often to think, I take it."

"Whenever I need time alone, which is almost every single day. I hadn't come up here lately because I've been looking after you. Normally, I'd run up here, just for an hour or so. It's a nice place to think." She must have seen his surprised look, because she blushing explained. "I know it seems dark and alien to others, but I grew up here. It _is_ nice because it's a hopeful reminder of what our lives are capable of doing. Midoriko may have died, but her death served a greater good. I'm a warrior, Houshi-sama. There are very few ways my life will eventually end. Either I die in battle, or because of it, or due to complications with old age. If I do die, I want it to be for a good cause."

Sango glanced at him, her blush still staining her cheeks. "What? What is it? Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Perhaps you may not believe me, Lady Sango, but I have often felt the same way."

For a moment she kept staring back at him, wondering if perhaps he was making fun of her. She felt a chill of surprise run up her spine when she realized that no, he wasn't. Miroku was being serious. As they stared at each other, both of them dawned on the smile shared between them. The smile had come to them so simply and naturally that it was like watching a sunrise: it was there before you knew it and no force could stop it. Comaraderie. It flowed between them, mingling and joining them together without touch either of them, yet warming and comforting all at the same time.

And Miroku's heart panicked.

* * *

This had made everything worse. Now he was friends with Sango, and both of them were aware of it. Miroku felt like he was drowning. He was closer than ever with Sango, learning her secrets and sharing secret smiles with her. But it wasn't as close as he wanted to be with her, and it was killing him. Friendship offered him a tantalizing glimpse at her complexities and amiabilities, things he wanted to explore more. 

But it was too close. Miroku didn't have time for friends. He worked alone. He worked alone _for a reason_. Friends would make it harder to leave when the air-void consumed him. Sometimes it was bad enough knowing he was leaving Mushin and Hachi. He didn't need to think of Sango being hurt as well. He needed to find a way to keep her away from him, maybe to hurt her so badly she'd hate him... yes. As much as he would hate himself and as broken as his heart may feel when he would hurt her, in the end, that situation would be for the best.

Thinking of the derriere he had been admiring the day before, he grinned to himself. He had often thought about touching, caressing that derriere. Perhaps that was the perfect way to keep Sango pushed away from him. Watching her turn back to Midoriko, Miroku cracked his knuckles and prepared to quench the desire of his most recent fantasies.

"Meow!"

Miroku had heard cats meow before. What none of them had ever had before was the loud, throaty growl that echoed in the pit of his stomach, or the breath that went with it so strong it moved his bangs. The sound had come from behind him, and he slowly turned to look behind him. The largest cat he had _ever_ seen was standing directly behind him, the cat's long whiskers touching the hair tied at the back of his head. Her gold eyes were angry-looking, and when he gulped nervously, he could see that the cat was following it. She was aware that he was nervous. His eyes focussed on her teeth. They were huge! She could render him in half with those teeth.

"Kirara!"

Sango's voice made the cat look away from Miroku. Instantly the cat made a softer sound and pounced on Sango. Miroku's hands were on the beads of the kazaana to open it and save Sango before he realized that she wasn't under attack—she was laughing. Although the cat was holding Sango in her large paws, she had her claws sheathed and was, in fact, licking Sango's cheek.

She laughingly pushed the large cat down. As she did so, Miroku noticed that the cat-demon had two tails and small flames licking her ankles. "This," Sango introduced, "is Kirara. Kirara, this is Houshi-sama. He's staying in our house for the next few days."

Kirara turned back and glanced at Miroku. The small flames increased for a second as she eyed him. He stared her back down, no longer nervous. Miroku thought that it was this which made Kirara accept him. After a moment the flames leapt up to envelop her, and when they subsided, a demon the size of a normal housecat remained. Kirara was adorable as a housecat: large gold eyes and a cute little nose. She sauntered up to Miroku and sniffed him. After a moment, she tentatively climbed into his lap, nudging Miroku's hand until he obliged her and ran his fingers though her fur.

"She likes you."

"I wouldn't have pictured the demon slayers having a fellow demon in their midst."

"Oh, sure we do. Kirara's a bit of a special case, but we don't have a problem with some types of demons, like the ones who protect lands or who are talented at forges. We have problems with the demons that run wild and cause danger to people and their homes—some demons even are dangers to themselves. We have a number of hanyous in the village. With their abilities to withstand harsher temperatures, eyes for finer details, and quicker reactions, they are some of the best skilled professionals we have. Most of our smiths and tailors are hanyous."

"Why is Kirara a special case?" he asked as he pet the cat demon in question. "Is she a pet?"

"She's a partner. Kirara has always been here in the village, and more specifically, with my family. She was with my mother when my mother was my age, and my mother used to tell me that Kirara also protected my grandmother. I don't know when she came to the village, or how she got here, but she's part of the reason why our village has lasted so long." Sango shifted to lean over to whisper in Miroku's ear. "And I wouldn't call her a pet again. Kirara fully understands human talk."

Miroku gulped nervously. If he really was planning on groping Sango to keep her away, then he was going to have to do it when the cat-demon wasn't around. Otherwise, keeping a safe emotional distance between himself and Sango was going to be hazardous to his health.

"Come on," she said, straightening. "We should go back soon. It's almost time for lunch."

* * *

As they walked into Sango's house, a commotion caught their attention. A low, slick voice was talking to the voice Miroku had identified in the past days as Sango's father. Sango was holding Kirara in her arms as they walked down the hallway and past the door behind which the conversation was being held. As soon as she heard the voice, she squeezed Kirara tightly to her chest. Her throat burned as she forgot to breathe. 

"We already gave you our answer," Sango's father told the man.

"I wish you would reconsider," the other man purred. "I have heard that he isn't far from this village. If you don't do something, then your village may be next."

Sango's back stiffened. She had a knack for when something was off to her, and whenever the prince's emissary opened his vile mouth, Sango's sense for danger went off the charts. Her voice barely rose above a whisper when she turned to Miroku. "You should go."

"What is it?"

"...I don't know..." Her breath came out as a shudder. "But you should go. This is business."

"If you don't want to reconsider," the stranger continued, "then please, let me talk to Sango."

"My daughter?"

In the hallway all three individuals froze when they heard Sango's name. Kirara leapt to Miroku's shoulder so Sango could lean forward and apply pressure to the edge of the door. Slowly and quietly, the door peeled back enough for Sango to see into the room. Her father had her back to the door, but she could see the other man's face.

"Yes, your daughter. Perhaps if I talked to her myself, I would be able to convince her of the urgency of the situation." He let the thought mull as he picked up the tea cup in front of him to take a sip. "She's an amazing woman. So determined and strong and passionate. A man would be proud to have her in their family, or even just to know her as a friend. I should like to be her friend."

"Are you speaking of courting my daughter?"

He smiled over his tea cup. He then lifted his head and looked up—right at Sango. She had to cover her mouth to keep from gasping out loud. He was making direct eye contact with her. Somehow, he knew that she was standing _right there_.

"I'd only speak of that if she'd have me. No, quite simply, there is something that she has that I want."

Sango backed up quickly. She couldn't stand the words she was hearing. At once her hand flew to her chest where the jewels were hidden. Somehow... he knew. He couldn't just feel them, the way she could, but he wanted them as well. Her hand bunched the fabric of her yukata, able to feel the sharp corners of the jewel even through the layers of fabric she wore.

"Houshi-sama... are you strong enough to purify a single shard of the shikon jewel?" she asked him. She felt him nod rather than see it. "I wonder... would you be kind enough to purify the shard I found?"

It was the understanding in his voice that eased the constriction in her chest enough for her to breathe. "Of course I will, Lady Sango."

* * *

He found her when she was alone in the garden. He liked watching her exercise. There was such... potential in her movements! If only the shard she carried had been tainted more, enough to act upon her deepest, darkest secrets... But no. The shard was barely tainted. That was why he had been able to sense it. The tainted jewels called to him, the way a dying man called upon the devil when faced with death. It was simply a matter that Sango did not have a tainted area of her mind for the jewel to harness in its own desires. 

She was much like Kikyou in that respect.

It was that and the jewel that had drawn his attention to Sango. She was... filled with _such_ potential. If her heart could be tainted, if she could lose herself to her anger and despair, if she drew upon the shard for power, if she did, she may even be strong enough to kill Inuyasha.

As he watched her exercise, performing intricate movements with her _wakazashi_, it suddenly dawned on him that he didn't sense the jewel on her anymore. Had Sango perhaps disposed of it somewhere? No. He didn't sense it anywhere in the area. Anger and frustration boiled up inside him—to be so close and yet so far!

His gaze slipped up from the shadows, moving from Sango to the cat sitting on the porch, to the man leaning against the railing of the porch petting the small demon, and the father approaching them. Naraku's eyes turned back to the man petting Kirara. The monk. The _monk_. He had the power to purify the jewels...

As he watched, Sango finished her pattern dance and paused for breath before moving into the next one, a more complicated and skilled dance. She shook her head, trying to lift the sticky feeling of sweat from the back of her neck, smiling. Her grin brightened as she hefted her sword and glanced at the monk on the balcony. Her brown eyes danced warmly, not with lust or even love, he noticed—but respect and honour. The monk, in returned, offered his own smile at Sango, a little too wide and cheerful to be a normal smile, and his eyes a little too focussed on Sango to be perfectly polite. The woman's cheeks darkened and she quickly resumed her exercise to hide her blush.

The monk's smile had been full of desire, and Sango had reciprocated it in her own unique way.

It was Naraku's turn to smile.

He knew how to make the darkness within Sango grow.

* * *

He found her when she was alone in the garden. He liked watching her exercise. There was such grace and beauty in her movements! It was like watching poetry in motion. Miroku leaned on the porch railing, his long fingers gently running through Kirara's fur. He tried his best to keep his face neutral, hiding his true feelings—thank god he was good at it. He didn't want Sango to see how much he wanted her. 

It was torture. Watching her work was like putting himself through torture. The way her long hair was pulled back made him wish that it was down, dreaming of entwining his fingers in it or stroking it for her as it lay over her muscled back. Watching the way her feet moved made him wish that there were music so he could see her dance—no trained dancer could ever best her raw dexterity and speed. He loved the way her cheeks darkened and how her bound chest moved when she breathed.

She stopped the dance, smiling at him. His heart thumped uncomfortably in his chest. He smiled back, trying to be polite, but the smile had a mind of its own. The feelings he had been trying to hide all but leapt out, filling his eyes with longing and his smile with the hint of a smirk that was none-too polite. His breathing quickened when she turned away blushingly.

Had she no interest in him, she would have thrown something at him, or perhaps glared. This indicated that she was simply uncertain of how to continue, or perhaps embarrassed that he was being so obvious in his wanton desire to be near her, to touch her, to speak with her... She _was_ interested in him, at least in some way. Miroku was sure of it! If that was true, then diligence might perhaps reward him for his efforts...

Kirara meowed under his hand, shifting her weight. It was his only warning that someone was coming near to them. Miroku quickly wiped the smile from his face and straightened to see Sango's father approaching them. "Hello, sir."

"Good afternoon, Houshi-sama." At least now Miroku knew where Sango had gotten her sense of propriety. "So, you are the monk that purified the shard Sango found."

"Yes. It wasn't all that difficult, sir. The jewel was hardly tainted at all."

"You have still done us a great service. If you are feeling up to it, we will have a feast this evening in your name."

Miroku nodded and smiled a little. "I would be much honoured, but a simple fare will do. I'm a wandering priest, sir, and I am still recuperating. I may be able to walk and hold my own for short periods of time, but sleep still comes too easily and refuses to leave in the morning, and my appetite is not returned yet. If you insist on this feast, I would much prefer to have it pushed back to a later date, so that I could fully enjoy it."

Eyeing Miroku carefully, he nodded. "You speak well of yourself—making yourself clear and confident, and yet also being polite. It is a refreshing sight. When Sango gets frustrated, she loses her focus and becomes rash. Kohaku is the opposite—he's too polite. He is so eager not to offend that he back downs when he should assert himself.

"Enough small talk. There was something specific I wished to discuss with you. We have no monk here. I understand from Sango, and now from yourself, that you are a travelling monk. If you are tired of the road, our house is open to you for as long as you would like. Your skill as a priest would be beneficial to both our job and our community."

Miroku's face paled. "Sir... Believe me when I say that I have had many offers to stay in cities, and none have interested or tempted me so much as this one. This place, this town... I could settle down here. I could fit in here. But... long have I thought that it was my presence that brought destruction to the village your slayers found. I am a danger anywhere I go. For the safety of your village, I can not remain. Once I am healed," his voice choked a little, "I plan to leave."

The leader's face was perfectly neutral. "My daughter will be disappointed."

Gripping his bound hand tightly, the space between the beads pinching his skin in a painfully familiar manner, Miroku chose his words carefully. The pinched flesh reminded him of why he could not stay. "Tell her that I am just as disappointed, but that I have promises to keep. When those promises are kept, then I would be glad to return and stay, if the offer still exists. You must understand sir, that this is something greater than I."

Miroku was well aware that the man had noticed the tight grip in his hand. "I understand the motivation, if not the reason. Don't you think that _she _has a right to know as well?"

"I am not the honest man you mistake me for, sir. I have told women before, and their answer is all the same: pity. It has led women to... to be more intimate with me than they would have otherwise. I... respect Sango. I would not want to court her with deceit, even if the deceit consists of the truth."

Chuckling, he glanced at his daughter. "Respect meaning that you also fear her a little?"

"Yes."

"A wise man. If you seek a woman who won't chase you out of the house with a ladle, then you would do best to look elsewhere for companionship, even if only of the... temporary kind. The women here know how to defend themselves and how to keep their husbands in line. My own wife, Sango's mother, used to bribe Kirara into bringing her dead birds and mice which she hid in my bedding when she was particularly mad at me. Of course, I had no proof it was her, and I dared not chastise Kirara for fear of my life."

"And you allowed this?"

He smiled. Miroku was envious—he wished that he could one day smile like that when he thought of a woman. "You never met my wife. She was always so straight-face and proper when I found those dead mice... you could never suspect her. When I once crawled into bed before I found it and screamed—who wouldn't scream when met with a dead sparrow in their bed?--she laughed herself silly. It was a beautiful sight, and I would deal with all of her small pranks for just _her_ in my life for another hour. You see, she did not keep control of her household and husband through fear or sexuality, but simply by respect. She was under handed and subtle and because of this, I respected her.

"You respect Sango. I can see it. You stand here watching her as I once watched her mother. Seeing it warms my heart—I won't lie or try to deceive you about that. If you respect her, you will tell her. Sango is not other women. I think you have noticed this already, though. Just because other women may have let their emotion rule their decisions does not mean that Sango will. If you continue letting her get close to you, then when you break down—and you will one day break down and explain why to her—then she will be so close to you it will hurt her more. If you tell her while you remain simply friends, then she can have time to deal with the information."

Miroku was quiet, taking the words to heart. There was a wisdom in those words—perhaps too much wisdom. As he thought, a light breeze ruffled his bangs. He glanced at Sango. No, she was no ordinary woman. If he were her father, he would want the best for her, and perhaps be jealous to let her go. And then to have a poor, wandering monk take an interest in her welfare, to gaze at her with such obvious infatuation...

"Why are you telling me this?" the monk muttered.

"Because she is my daughter. I do not want to see her hurt."

Both men were silent. Miroku felt nervous. Fighting it back, he asked, "Did you know that Sango was listening at the door yesterday before lunch?" The broad-shouldered man nodded. "Yet you don't punish her for eavesdropping, or even tell her that you know. Do you approve of her actions?"

"Not entirely. However, she is a woman. She has a right to know what is going on, and no one other than you and I know that she listening in. Listening is the greatest skill anyone, regardless of their gender, can have. It reveals truth, lies, allies, and enemies."

"...May I ask what was going on? Why you were meeting with him and arguing with him?"

"A business arrangement."

"He was speaking of marrying Sango," Miroku pointed out with a growl edging his voice.

His comment was met with silence. Stubbornly Miroku kept the guilt from showing. He knew that he had sounded jealous and so the monk was playing dumb. If he revealed that he was aware of his lapse and ashamed of it, he worried that his feelings for Sango may also be revealed. At least if he played dumb, the jealousy could be revealed as no more than masculine pride.

"Even if Sango had indicated to me she had an interest in... that man, I'd not have him in my family. He's too obsessive. If you wish to know more, ask Sango. It's her life in question, not my own. Enjoy the rest of your day, Houshi-sama."

* * *

She knocked and didn't get an answer. Sango waited a moment, biting her bottom lip. Why hadn't Miroku answered her knock? She slid the shoji screen open a crack, wondering if he was asleep. She found him sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring out the window of his bedroom and staring at the full moon. The pool of silvery moonlight that enveloped him made his dark hair shine in the darkness. She was about to pull the door shut when he turned to look at her. 

"Sango, what happens when you marry?"

She was taken aback by the question. Slowly, as if entranced by those blue eyes staring at her intently, she walked in to sit down slightly behind him, out of the pool of moonlight. "Father and I have an arrangement. I want to agree with the person he chooses to marry me, if that's why you're wondering why I'm still single despite being seventeen."

"No. I want to know what happens when you marry. What would you do? Would you give up fighting?"

"Well, I... I don't know. I'd have a home to take care of, and one day children. I imagine I'd do as most women do and remain behind while the men go off to battle, so that I could be here to defend the town. But that's only if I married somebody who would live here with me. If I lived elsewhere... I don't think I could. I'd have no role to play outside the village. So I would stay here, and keep house as well as I could, and raise children as well as I could, and fight when the fight came to my door, but I wouldn't go looking for trouble."

"As well as you could?"

She blushed. "I may have some training in how to keep a house, but I have my areas that cause me trouble. Cleaning I can do—in fact, I enjoy physical labour. It's just another way of keeping myself in shape. But cooking? I can't cook. I've burned water before. Serving tea? I fumble. I'm used to handling swords, not delicate pottery! And children... are complex. I'd worry that the things I do would somehow harm it eventually."

"I've seen your maternal side, Sango. Your hands may be callused, but they are no less maternal or loving or gentle than even the most feminine of women." Miroku had always considered himself a smooth talker, but he had no real grasp of the power of his words until he saw Sango avoid his gaze at his compliment. He had just been frank with her. Sango responded to his compliments with a delicacy and shyness that he had not expected of her.

"Thank you, Houshi-sama."

His name. Never his name, even in that hushed tone she used when she was nervous around him. She was forcing a respectful distance between them.

"What's the matter? Haven't you been complimented before?" She nodded yes; she had been complimented before. "So, you want to marry a demon-slayer, or a man willing to stay in your village, and you would keep house as well you could, and bear him children... and you would protect them as fiercely as a demon would protect their young. But what of your duties as the daughter of a leader of this village?"

She chewed her cheek for a moment. His gentle questions eased answers from him she would not normally have given. "There is a chance that Kohaku, when he comes of age, would deny Father. As his only other child, the responsibilities of Father would fall to my husband. If I were not married, if the clan would accept me, I could assume them, but otherwise the position could be assumed by one of my cousins. My marriage would become entirely political."

"Would you let your husband assume the duties for you?"

"I don't know. If he were better than me, certainly. If he were my equal, I don't know. If he were a weaker leader than I am, I would try to lead. But even I have my weaknesses. I'm picky about marrying because that situation is one I don't want to deal with. I want my husband and I to be equals, and then we can both lead together. I wouldn't mind still giving him children and letting him lead if he were as good as a fighter as I am because then I wouldn't have to worry about him. But I... I'd like someone charismatic and intelligent, who can also lead people, because that's where I have difficulty. I don't understand people, not very well. You have no idea how hard it is finding a man that can hold his own in battle and yet is still learned and charismatic."

Listening to her speak, Miroku felt like his heart broke. It scared him—terrified him, really—that he knew it really was broken, and also that it had broken so quickly. He had known Sango for only a few days, and yet he had fallen for her, completely and indefinetely. No other woman could ever capture his heart and he doubted anything could quite heal it.

He knew that he was exactly what she wanted. He was a people person, he had no home and would love to claim the village as his home, he was a fighter, he was an educated monk, he would eagerly give her children, he was happy both leading and becoming a normal man. For a moment, he saw the life he could have in Sango, and as quickly as he saw it, the beads on his hand reminded him that it was slipping through his fingers.

"Sango..."

She moved closer to him before he could finish. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he could smell her tears in the still air. "Father told me that you wouldn't be staying with us. You're welcome to stay, Houshi-sama. Why won't you stay with us? Is something wrong? Is it because of me?"

"You?" He turned to look at her. She looked incredibly nervous. Strands of her hair floated around her slender neck, as if she had been running her fingers through her hair nervously. "Sango, you could do nothing wrong..."

"I'm sorry, but I'm just not used to being noticed by men. I keep seeing you look at me, or smile at me, or watching me, and I want to tell you to stop, but it's... it's flattering, and I... I just don't know what to do..."

"Easy. You tell me to stop." Before she could speak he swung himself around so that he could see her. Miroku took her hard shoulders in his hands carefully. Sango gulped with nervousness. Miroku felt a twitch of frustration at the sight. _You dear, sweet, naïve, little _fool! he thought to himself. _Do you think you're the only one who's scared?_

"Sango, I wish dearly that my destiny lay inside the walls of this village. I wish to God that I was the man of which you spoke. And if I weren't now, I wish dearly that I could become him. But I have… promises and responsibilities that no other man alive could possibly understand. I already know what my destiny is, and it's not here in this village."

"Who are you to believe in destiny? Souls may be destined to love some one else, to find a better half, to be easily swayed by temptation, or uphold the highest virtues," she choked out, clinging to her words with a fevered desperation she had never known before. "But people can overcome those things! Just because the path is set at our birth doesn't mean that our own wills can't change it!"

His face was sorrowed. "I have a mission to complete. There is a demon that I need to kill, and I can't stop until I find him and kill him."

"Then let me come with you!" She could already see the answer on his face. Angry, Sango pulled herself from his grasp. "What better person to have by your side than a demon slayer when you have to hunt down a demon?"

"It's dangerous."

"And all the demons I've killed by myself weren't dangerous?"

"No, Sango, _I'm_ dangerous." He held out his gloved hand. "It's called the _kazaana,_ Sango."

She didn't move a muscle as he explained his history, how he had gotten the _kazaana_. He told her far more than he had ever meant to; he told her far more than he had ever told anyone else. He laid the deepest memories out for her, wanting to make her understand _why_ he had to leave the village and _why_ it was dangerous for her to go with him, but when she looked up to his eyes, he felt as if he were hitting glass. Whatever she thought, he couldn't tell. It unnerved him, and he pushed harder, until finally, everything was laid out in the open.

"You're going to die if it isn't stopped…"

"…yes."

Sango's eyes dropped to the floor. "And if you fail, then…"

"Then there is no other who can remove this blight upon my family unless I can father a child, and then it would be his responsibility. My end is only a few years away. I fear it's too late. Even if I found a woman capable of bearing my child, capable with dealing with the danger and the pain, my son would be three, maybe four when he inherited the _kazaana_. And then he would be even younger than I am when he died. We can only live with the _kazaana_ for about two decades. It was for this reason that I wanted to find a strong woman to bear my child. I wanted her to be strong for she'd have to raise him by herself, and because it would mean my child would be strong. It would give him a fighting chance in this world. And now, ironically, that I have found a woman I consider strong enough to bear my child and live with the pain and grief it would cause her, and lovely enough that I am attracted to her… it is the one woman I cannot stand the idea of helping to father a child."

Miroku waited for her to look before continuing. He wanted her to see the honesty on his face. His eyes were steady as he beheld her, stubbornly wishing she could understand. "I would die happy if I knew you were safe, Sango. I am the reason why that village was destroyed. I am a danger to you and this village. The longer I remain here, the greater the chance that my enemy will send his demons after me."

"But we kill demons! Of all the world, this is the one place that should be safe for you!"

"Yes, and that will make his attack here all the more brutal and ruthless. Sango, if I find a way to remove the curse, I promise I will return to you and this place. I have given up so much already I can't ask you to do the same. Remain with your family. I know how much it hurts to lose them. Love and treasure yours while you still can."

Gone was the nervous girl who had looked ready to bolt at a compliment. Miroku realized that he was no longer speaking to Sango the girl, but to the hardened warrior. "I hadn't been asking your _permission_ to let me accompany you. I was offering my services. If you don't want me to go with you, fine, but what in the world makes you think that you can tell me to sit here safely and listen?"

His hearg was filled with adoration. He loved her when she looked angry. Her lips were pressed closed so tightly hat the scar in the corner of her mouth blazed white. God, how he wanted to kiss that scar! All her scars!

"Nothing I can say can make you do anything. That's why I'm not giving you a choice. Your father told me that you have a mission, for a Lord Takeda. Go on your mission, Sango. When you return, I will be long gone."

So there it was. He was going to run from everything he had ever wanted like a coward. Sango glared at him, and he deserved every second of that potent expression. She recognized his cowardice. Without a word she rose and walked out. The sound of the cicadas outside filled the room.

And Miroku tried to convince himself that it was best like that.

* * *

To Be Continued...

AN: I will try to update when I can. I'm about 1/4 of the way through chapter three right now. Currently searching for a summer job while working my ass off at another that I can't stand. Wish me luck!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

He couldn't do it.

Even by the following morning, Miroku's resolution had not changed. He sat meditating on the floor, trying to keep his thoughts under control, but Sango kept infiltrating them. He thought of her husky voice as she cared for him, he thought of the way she fought, of her ponytail as it swished delightfully back and forth, how she smiled when she stroked Kirara, how she smelled, how she tilted her head to regard him with something akin to curiosity… And each thought entrenched his earlier statements. He could not let her go with him on his journey.

If she should die, or become injured, or if his control of the kazaana lifted only a fraction of a second… He smiled ruefully when he realized that the cat-demon that had fallen asleep draped over his knee the night before was less of a danger to Sango than he was. No, he simply could not let her go.

But Sango didn't understand. The kazaana still seemed like a fairy tale to her, like it couldn't possibly be real. She had tried to understand it from his perspective, but she couldn't. The monk she had spent the last few days beside had been naught but kind. There didn't seem to be a cruel bone in his body. He could not, would not, hurt her. She was certain of it.

But then he had said those things to her the night before… she had changed her mind on that, at least. To keep her safe, to keep her away from becoming too close, he would hurt her. She knew that and accepted it, knowing that she did the same to him, never letting his true name cross her lips. Now the problem was not the she was hurt but that Sango was offended, which was worse.

It would have been one thing if Miroku had simply told her no. It was another thing to insinuate the reason why was because Sango couldn't take care of herself or accept the choices she made. Sango was a trained fighter. She had begun training before her younger brother was born. She lived to fight, feeling alive only when her weapon was in her hand. Telling her that she couldn't do what she had been trained to for the past thirteen years was like telling her not to breathe.

Sango didn't know why she was being so stubborn about it. She wasn't sure if it was because she was irked that he was being presumptuous, or if she was just trying to get back at him for sneaking away. If she helped every poor soul that came along, she'd be stretched thin. It was just… there was something about Miroku; something about him that she had never felt for another man. When he looked at her, staring at her intently, she felt her insides go all squishy and she had to fight to bite back a sigh, relishing the gaze as much as she wanted it to go away. He lavished attention on her without even trying, and she was enjoying it, but at the same time scared… Both parts agreed that she should go with Miroku. At least they agreed on one thing. She needed to protect Miroku.

"Here." Sango marched into his bedroom where he sat meditating. She hadn't bothered to knock. If she was embarrassed—or intrigued—at finding Miroku only half-clothed, she didn't show it. She tossed something into his lap carelessly.

Miroku broke his trance to pick up the small bundle. It was an oyster shell closed by a familiar white ribbon.

"You don't have to open it. There's two mixtures in there. One is to help wounds close. Just spread it over the wound. The other side is an antidote for poisons. Just place some on your tongue and let it dissolve. You don't own any medical supplies, so I thought you'd like some."

"Thank you." He really was quite touched by her gift, although he hoped that he didn't show how much it meant to him in his voice. Unfortunately, he doubted that he had succeeded in removing the tenderness that always warmed his tone whenever he spoke to Sango. He glanced up at her, finding her hand around the hilt of her sword as she stood above him. Her face was determined, but he could see the apprehension that made her fingers tap nervously on her sword hilt. Miroku smiled at Sango charmingly. "Was there something else?"

"Yes," she stated quickly, almost as if she were relieved. He saw color steadily climbing to her cheeks, and yet she retained the determination and poise with which she had entered the room rather than succumbing to the blush and avoiding his gaze. "You said earlier in the week, Houshi-sama, that you owed me a promise. I would like you to make me a promise now."

He wondered if she was going to ask him to kiss her. _Buddha be praised, how I would love to give her that! _He could feel his back straightening at the sheer prospect of hearing those words fall from her pretty mouth.

"I want you to promise me that you will wait to leave to find your demon until after I return from Lord Takeda's."

Miroku cursed mildly in his thoughts. His shoulders slumped slightly. He stared at her until it dawned on him why Sango would ask for such a strange promise. If he wasn't going to let her come with him, then Sango was going to follow him under her own power by tracking him. Had there been any trace of smugness on Sango's face, perhaps Miroku might have lied to her. He hated being trapped by his own words. Instead, he encountered only a mask in her eyes. She was still blushing, her hand still nervously gripped around the hilt of her sword, but her eyes were an emotional mask.

It was the mask that made him nod his head in agreement, slowly saying the words she wanted to hear. Anyone who could remain so stoic, who could meet death in the eyes the way she met his eyes, was strong enough to survive the journey with him. But watching the relief as it flooded her face, realizing that this would mean that they would be spending each day of every hour together, Miroku… felt a little afraid.

He had spent such a small amount of time at their house, and already he could feel himself caring for her: he cared for her well-being, he began each day looking forward to seeing her, he fell asleep at night thinking of ways to flirt with her and antagonize her… Miroku was infatuated with Sango, and he worried that spending time with her might only make that infatuation grow.

* * *

Only an hour later, Sango visited him again. This time she knocked on the door and Miroku answered it. A large boomerang-shaped weapon was slung across her back. Miroku wondered what it was made of that made it so easy for her to carry. Her hair had been pulled up in a tight ponytail, set high in the back of her head to avoid the edge of the weapon she carried. It was the first time Miroku had seen her with her hair up, rather than pulled into a loose ponytail closer to the center of her back. It looked nice on her; sleek, he decided, rather than soft and full like her other hairstyle. 

"I brought someone for you," she said with a smile. She outstretched her hands, passing him a sleeping cat-demon. She smiled and stroked Kirara's head goodbye, before she looked up to regard Miroku with a more serious face. "Don't worry. I'm not telling you to look after each other because I don't trust you. Kirara doesn't know about our deal, so if you leave before I get back, she won't stop you. I just… I just don't want her to wake up on her own. I don't think she likes it very much. And I don't think you do, either."

His eyes widened a little in surprise. He covered his expression by looking back down at the sleeping cat-demon he now held in his hands. No, he didn't like waking up alone. Miroku gently let his thumb stroke Kirara's forehead. He didn't like waking up alone because he had become far too accustomed to it. There was little joy in life waking up in a cold bed. He wondered, as he stroked Kirara's fur, if perhaps that was the same reason why Kirara liked the company of humans; she was far too used too being by herself.

"Kirara and I will wait patiently for your return," he promised her. Sango blushed at the way he stared into her eyes, making the edges of his mouth turn up in a little smile of adoration. She returned it eagerly, feeling her heart suddenly start beating faster and her hands become clammy. "Come back quickly, Sango."

"I will, Houshi-sama." Sango's cheeks darkened and she smiled at him. It was another one of her special smiles, the kind that made Miroku's heart leap wildly into his throat at seeing it. Miroku returned it eagerly. She knew by his smile that Miroku was going to stick to his word. He wasn't going to leave her.

Miroku knew he wasn't going to leave Sango either, and it worried him. It worried him because he was caring this much for someone he had never even touched, or kissed... he didn't know a thing about Sango. He didn't know her allergies, or her favourite food, her favourite pastime or color. But he knew that she was thoughtful, intelligent, and hardworking. And loyal.

And maybe, just maybe, it was the loyalty that meant the most to Miroku.

* * *

The group of demon slayers walked away from the village, Sango marching between her father and her younger brother. She was busy whispering to him about how he'd do well in his first real battle, about how he shouldn't be nervous, but her sisterly remarks were punctuated by Sango glancing over her shoulder at the village. Her brother was too polite to say anything at the curious occurrance of Sango looking wistful, but her father noticed, and he had a personal interest in determining the nature of her hesitancies. 

He asked her about it when they stopped for the evening. It was a three day hard march to the castle where they were going. Pulling his daughter aside, he sat down next to her on a log. They both watched the night sky for a few moments, and his deep voice broke the amiable silence between them.

"Your mother used to love watching the night sky like this, Sango. She'd sit outside the village on the hillside, laying down on her back with Kirara on her lap, watching them for hours. When I was away from you and her and Kohaku, it brought me happiness to lay under these stars and know that she was doing the same. The sky connected us; it kept us a family. I can't help but think that perhaps, with the way you've been glancing over your shoulder since we left home, that perhaps you are doing the same."

"Perhaps I am," she admitted after a moment of careful consideration. "Houshi-sama confuses me. I trust him, but at the same time, I have this nagging feeling that when I get return home he's no longer going to be there. And that thought scares me, Father. The thought that I may never see him again disturbs me."

"That's because you care for him, as well you should." He laughed heartily, slapping his knee. "Gracious, Sango! You saved him. You nursed him back to health, and then helped him get around once he was awake. You lost weight and sleep and meals over him. Of course you care about his welfare. Part of you is still thinking solely of his welfare. That's why you agreed to go with him after we finish this business, isn't it?"

She nodded meekly. Her father's large hand brushed her hair for her, drawing her close to rest her head against his shoulder. Sango sighed and wrapped her arms around her father, her gaze slipping back up to the stars. She was happy wrapped in those arms, overwhelmed by the smell of his soap.

"I know that you're tired of your father trying to play matchmaker, Sango, but I want you to know that if these feelings of protection and loyalty ever evolve into something… _more_, that you have my complete approval in seeking a relationship with him. He's a fine young man, and his nature seems to be quite complimentary to yours."

"I barely even know him!"

"I barely knew your mother when I married her. I know that you're not like me, Sango, and I'm not trying to make a point or force you into anything. I just want you to realize that sometimes you don't know. Sometimes love is just as simple as knowing that if they weren't there in your life, you would have to fight to get through each day."

She lifted her head to look at him. "Did you have to fight to do that when Mother died?"

"Heavens, no! I had you and Kohaku to raise. If I didn't do a good job of raising you, your mother was never going to let me forget it. Somehow, I knew she would come to haunt me. So each day I poured everything I could give into raising you two and to keep the village running. That's how she would have wanted it."

Sango smiled at her father. She said something then, on the spur of the moment, that she had never said before. "I love you, too, Father."

Her father blushed uncomfortably. "Yes, well, ah… Regardless, he seems like a fine man, Sango. I just… wanted you to know that I approve of him. He's an intelligent and polite fellow, but don't let your guard down on your journey. He may seem your help as an… offer of other sorts. I'd like to suggest asking Kirara to accompany you. She's always been fonder of you than Kohaku and I, and Kohaku more than me," he laughed. "She'll help keep you safe."

"I'll ask her when we return," Sango promised.

He smiled at her. For a moment, his eyes misted over, and when he reached out to brush some hair from her face for her, Sango knew that he was seeing his wife in her. He had often remarked that though she didn't look very much like her mother, she had her mother's heart. The comment had meant more to Sango than anything else her father had ever said. At that moment, though, her father found something to surpass them.

"Your mother would be so proud of seeing the young lady you've become, Sango."

Sango was relieved when her father left so no one could see her wipe her tears away when she broke down from the simple compliment. In the days, and eventually years, to follow, Sango remembered the last conversation with her father as the most special.

* * *

Sango could sense that something was wrong. She never knew how to explain her feelings to her father and her brother, both of whom didn't seem to have the same senses for demons as she did. She often thought if it as a sneeze. She could sense the sneeze coming, but she wasn't sure when it was coming. 

Her eyes scanned ahead of her, and focussed on the man lounging in the center of the group. He reminded her of the messenger that had come to their castle, with his long, wavy hair and those horrible dead eyes. He looked almost bored as he regarded the demon slayers in front of him, as if they were a troop of performers who were supposed to entertain him rather than slayers who were supposed to save his castle. Once, just once, the man looked at her and Sango could feel goosebumps break out under her skin. She had often been leered at by men while wearing her outfit, their eyes seeing past the tight outfit to the curves underneath, but this was as if he had seen past that into something deeper, into something more personal than just the curves if her body.

It made her think of Miroku. She hade thought that perhaps when he had looked at her, he was . doing the same thing, but now Sango realized how wrong she was. He had looked at her into something deeper, but not with the perversion this lord did. Miroku had looked at her longingly, as if she were somehow so sacred to him that despite how much he wanted to reach out and touch her, he never did. It had made her feel beautiful, something she had not felt in a very long time. The lord looked at her as if she were nothing more than a peice of meat waiting to be slaughtered and devoured.

Her hand tightened around her weapon. She had a feeling she was going to use it.

She needed it sooner than she thought. She wasn't eally quite aware of what was happening as it occurred. It was as if it was all happening to someone else and Sango was an observer. She felt something inside of her snap. She had felt her anger snap before, have it fly out at somebody, attack with more agression that was necessary, but this was different. As she saw her father's blood spread across the dirt ground, she felt her heart slowly sinking inside of her to keep her from feeling the pain. She knew that she was crying; she knew that she was screaming, but she could not feel the loss.

Something cold had gripped her now. She looked up to see her brother, see that gentle hand holding the blood-darkened weapon. Sango knew she was the only one standing. Something hurt her; she didn't know what it was, but she was aware that she was bleeding. Then she heard the lord yell for the archers to shoot them, claiming they were possessed.

Sango was running. Running burned. She could feel the arrows piercing her back. She thought it was funny that they didn't hurt as much as she thought they should. Kohaku, sheltered under her, was crying, sobbingly apologizing. Sango felt herself fall into the dirt, Kohaku's body suddenly lifeless under hers. Her back was wet with blood, and she could taste it in her mouth. She prayed it was just a split lip and that the arrows hadn't pierced her lungs. Kohaku was still alive. Someone had to be there for him; someone had to tell him that it wasn't his fault, that it would be okay. Someone had to be there to hold him when he had nightmares and pick him up when he fell.

"Sango..."

"I'm here for you, Kohaku..."

She tried to speak. She didn't think that she had made it. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. She heard people speak. They were talking about burrying them. Sango's heart thumped awkwardly in her chest. She tried to lift her head and tell them that she was still alive, but she couldn't. She was still awake when they picked her up and placed her beside the grave they were digging. Each scrape of the equipment against the dirt made something deep inside Sango, in the broken off area deep inside of her, scream in fear. The rest of her tried hard to move her mouth, to tell them thhe at she was still alive, but she couldn't.

By the time they had finished digging her grave, she had been claimed by exaustion and was in a deep sleep. Her wounds had clotted, but they did not notice. They placed her gently in the shallow grave and began to throw the dirt back into place.

* * *

While Sango was gone, Miroku's stay in the village was a pleasant one. He spent the days exploring the village, talking with its people, and occasionally even flirting with a few of the prettier village girls. He learned their names, their habits, and saw what Sango meant when she had told him that the women of the village had to be trained in all matters. 

He didn't see pretty, decorated houses or flower gardens. The villagers were too practical for that. They let no ground go to waste for frivolous things. Beanstalks climbed houses, their pretty red flowers slowly turning into edibles; the mothers paid no mind as their toddlers fenced with sticks until they needed to correct a stance or a thrust; young sisters and brothers toiled with their mothers in the fields or the workshops, knowing that they could resume their play when their fathers returned home… if they returned at all. For their seemingly idyllic existence, they were well aware of the dangers of their lifestyle. The large graveyard was testament to that. Only in the graveyard could Miroku find flowers. Their reasoning was that only dead demon slayers have time enough to enjoy the sweet scent and beauty of flowers.

It made Miroku think of Kohaku. Sango's younger brother didn't seem to have the right mentality to be able to become the leader of the demon slayers. He was too thoughtful and empathetic. Sango had learned to shield those emotions when necessary. She was not a rough, heartless warrior, and had the unusual ability to be able to turn her emotions off and on as was needed. Kohaku lacked that necessary skill. Personally, Miroku suspected that perhaps having a protective big sister was partly to blame.

He made use of their fine artisans skills while he was there. While he had been exploring the village, one of the girls offered to mend his weapon for him. His _shakujo_ was worn from all the battles he had survived and the miles he had walked. After leaving it with the girl for a day, he returned to find that she had retempered the weaker parts of the weapon and balanced it. Miroku had never thought his weapon had been off balance before, but now it felt like a perfect extension of his body.

"Careful," she had told him as he tested it. He brought it closer to find that she had sharpened the decorative head of the staff. A strong enough swipe struck with the full blade of the edge could easily disembowl a man.

Miroku knew that he would have to practice with his new weapon. Early on the morning of the fourth day since Sango had left, Miroku was finally feeling healthy enough to try fighting. Now that he had an improved weapon, it was also a necessity that he learn how to use it properly.

At first he fought on his own against a dummy, slowly working up the speed and strength of his strikes. His dark hair was damp with exertion, and he found it hard to catch his breath by the time he was finished. He turned to find three boys sitting on the fence which surrounded the practice yard, watching him. The youngest of them, about seven, rushed out to the field with a cup of water for him. It eased the fire from Miroku's parched throat.

"You're the man that Sango-sama is looking after, aren't you?" he asked with wide eyes. Miroku nodded. "Wow. Has she seen you fight yet?"

"No, she hasn't."

"She should! To us, a staff is nothing but a practice weapon. Old men fight with staves; we fight with swords or other bladed weapons. But I bet that Sango would be impressed with what you can do with your staff! I've never seen anybody be so quick with it."

The other boys, seeing that Miroku was wiling to talk, slowly made their way over to join in the conversation. The eldest of them, Miroku guessed about ten, nodded. "Sango-sama is so quick with her sword at times that it's just a blur. It would be interesting to see you two spar off together. If you beat her, maybe she'd even marry you."

Miroku's attention suddenly perked up. "Pardon me?"

"Sango said that for anyone of us boys to even consider marrying her, we'd have to beat her," the last boy answered. "She's good enough to take down some demons on her own. No one wants to challenge her, really, because we'd be embarassed if we lost, and if we win, then her dad might _make_ us marry her. Sango's a good enough fighter, but she still is a woman."

The monk smiled, recalling Sango's curves and the blushing comments she made. "I don't see where the problem is."

The boy frowned. "Girls have cooties."

"Sango doesn't have cooties, Miki," the youngest boy defended.

Miroku sighed, knowing how to put an end to the conversation easily enough. "I'm still a little weak from being sick," he said, "but I think I'd enjoy some friendly competition. What do you say to a three on one practice?"

Miki shook his head. "You may be quick, but we've all been trained how to fight since we were old enough to walk. Three on one is an unfair fight for you. Take Hoji," he said, shoving the seven year old closer to Miroku. "Two on two is a fair enough fight."

It was one of the best mornings Miroku ever had. The fight started serious, but it quickly turned into more of a rough house. Miroku found himself being pushed into the ground and grappling three kids who were trying to pin him to the ground after having been disarmed. He laughed so hard that smiling hurt. He had always known that he wanted children, but getting to actually spend the morning interacting with those three ferocious boys made him want children even more. Girls, he thought. If the girls were going to be like Sango and he could take them out and roughhouse with them, he wouldn't even mind a house full of girls.

He had just managed to get Miki into a headlock, laughing as the boy squirmed to get out of it while he fended off the other two boys with his free arm, when he felt something bite his shoulders—_hard_. He loosened his grip on Miki to find Kirara's large mouth holding his shoulder between her teeth. She wasn't biting down, but her teeth were sharp nonetheless. Miroku gulped down his laughter—the sight of Kirara's large fangs were enough to wipe the smile off of his face.

"I wasn't realy hurting them, Kirara."

"Yeah," said Hoji, trying unsuccessfully to wipe off some dirt from his cheek. "It was fun!"

Kirara didn't release her grip. She growled and lifted her head. Miroku felt himself being pulled to his feet, whether he liked it or not. He felt much like a cat being carried around in the jaws of his mother. It was perhaps because of the way she was treating him like a child that Miroku began to pay attention to Kirara and stop presupposing that she was just being overprotective of the children. She let go of him when he straightened to his full height. She pointed her nose to the east, staring at something in the distance, and Miroku turned to face it.

It was like suddenly he had turned his face directly into the sun or the wind and he could feel the full power of it on his face. Some sixth sense he had in him told him that there were demons approaching. He might have been able to sense them sooner had he not been busy playing with the children.

He could feel cold fear running up and down his spine. For a moment it froze him completely. There were so _many_ demons approaching! They were close enough now that he could see them, a thin black line on the horizon. Then his fear bore guilt, and the guilt at least sprang him into action.

One village had already been destroyed because of him. He had warned Sango that because this was a demon slayer village, because they could protect themselves against demons, Naraku's attack on the village would be all that much more violent and thorough. But had he ever expected so _many_!

He looked at the boys who were staring up at him curiously. He was going to have to ask them to be brave. They saw his expression and instantly the innocence vanished from their eyes. They no longer wanted to play. They could sense that something was wrong, just as he could, and they were prepared to do anything they needed to do in order to defend themselves.

Miroku had seen much the same change occurr in pet dogs—to see it in children was unnerving. But at the same time that it made him feel uncomfortable, it relieved him. These children, though they had not yet shed blood, were warriors.

"Go and spread the news. An attack is coming. Tell everyone to arm themselves. Get any archers you have up on the wall to start to bring them down when they get in range!" The children stood there for a moment, and then ran, shouting the warnings. Miroku reached over to stroke Kirara's head, silently thanking her for the warning.

The attack happened fast. They were able to bring down some of the demons before they got into range, but it mattered little. The line of demons that Kirara and Miroku had been able to sense approaching was only the first wave.

At first Miroku thought that they had been doing well. Sure, he saw people getting injured and the large bodies of demons destroying houses, but the people were surviving, despite it all. Miroku cursed that he had ever strained his body. His shoulders burned from overuse, and he was having trouble breathing. He knew that his attacks were slow, and he paid for it with a counter-attack that threw him into a wall. Something warm and wet nudged his side when he failed to get up immediately.

He opened his eyes to find Kirara standing above him. Her gold eyes bruned fiercely. In the dark cloud of demons above them, which turned the mid afternoon sun into dusk, the red blood matted into her pale fur turned nearly black. Miroku slowly pushed himself up, the beads around his wrist pressing into his palm.

The impact had hurt his back. His newly reforged weapon had been lost somewhere, and his left leg didn't seem to be working properly. Kirara whined worriedly. He smiled at her, and leaned against her. He knew that he was going to have to use the _kazaana_.

He steadied himself, grasping the beads. Miroku muttered a few words to Kirara to prepare her for the winds. He pulled the beads back, and the wind picked up, tunneling towards him. His bangs still stuck to his head, clotted by a head wound he didn't remember receiving. His robes flapped against his legs, and somehow, over the howl of the wind, he heard something buzzing. Miroku could make out a flash of lines before it disappeared into the wind-tunnel.

It pinched. It hurt. Miroku couldn't recall it ever having hurt before. His other leg trembled and he leaned further on Kirara. He could feel beads of sweat running down his cheek as two more bees flew into the wind-tunnel. He suddenly began to feel ill, and he was already falling to his knees, still holding the wind-tunnel open, when a fourth a fifth entered the wind-tunnel. It was becoming hard to breath, and this time not from fatigue.

He had seen it before. He had seen children eat some type of food or be stung by bees and then their throats began to close up. He didn't know what caused it, only that children died from it. He knew that if he didn't close the _kazaaana_ then he was going to die. Moving hurt. His muscles screamed and everything was blurry. He suddenly realized he had collapsed on the ground, dirt entering his mouth, and yet he didn't care.

He spied a familiar ribbon in front of him. Miroku reached for it. It felt like he had picked up a hot ember when his hand closed around it. Sango had said that there was an antidote in it. He prayed that it would help him as he put one in his mouth. He wasn't even certain if he had swallowed it before everything went black. He could still feel his hands, numbs as they had become. He flexed his right hand and felt that the beads had fallen back into place. The wind-tunnel was sealed again.

Kirara was worried. She leaned down, sniffing him. He was still alive, but he smelled funny, like tainted meat. Kirara looked around her. She whined, and no one answered. People screamed as demons feasted on their flesh. Kirara felt her heart breaking. She had not been able to protect her people or her home. She nudged Miroku, wishing he'd get back up. His wind attack had been powerful, and perhaps they could have a chance if he could get up and use it. Miroku, however, didn't budge.

She lifted her head and looked towards the cavern where Midoriko still lived. She knew that no demon could enter that cave unless they were allowed to by Midoriko. The demons would not be able to enter it. She shook her head slowly as she bit down on the collar of Miroku's robes. Had the humans been aware that Midoriko was still aware of her surroundings, that some life and power still remained of the great priestess, they would not have fought. They would have run to the cave and waited there until reinforcements arrived.

But she had had no way of communicating with them. Sango and Kohaku understood her, but they had grown up with her. Kirara had helped to raise them as pups, the most attentive baby-sitter their mother could have ever wished for. She had cuddled them when they had nightmares and when they cried, and played with them when they were happy. No one else understood her as those two humans did, and so the secrets of Midoriko's cave remained Kirara's secrets.

She managed to get him on to her back, still gripping part of his robes between her teeth in case he fell off. She carried him to the cave. It only took a few bounds for Kirara to traverse the steep climb the cave mouth. She left him there in safety and then tried to find any other survivors, but she could not leave the cave.

From above, the village seemed to swarm with bodies. To Kirara's sensitive ears, she could not hear the screams. They were beyond saving. If she went down there, she would be fodder as well, and then what would Sango and the others come back to? Who would be there to comfort Sango and Kohaku? Who would be there to protect the village when it was rebuilt? Who would tell them that Miroku alone had survived, and him just barely?

Kirara whined sadly and retreated back further into the cave. Miroku was shivering with cold. Kirara lay the upper half of her body across Miroku to help keep him warm. Above them, Midoriko's mummified body gazed down at them with the transcended respect of an angel.

* * *

To be continued... 

AN: Sorry for any errors. I couldn't actually recall the dialogue of the scene of Sango's family dying, and I lack the bandwidth to download it. :) Besides, we already know what happens there from the series, so I didn't want to make it the big dramatic scene it really is. The focus on this chapter, for me, was getting the opportunity to draw out the demise of the village--not just of the people, but this unique culture that developed and was suddenly, hopelessly, lost.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

She thought it was exhilarating; Kagome imagined it was much like flying. She leaned straighter, letting the wind catch her dark hair and lift it from her neck to wave behind her in the breeze. The wind tugged at her clothes, and she felt as if she should let go. She felt as if she could just float away. She had missed travelling this way. Since they had found Shippo, she hadn't often had the chance to get a piggy back ride through the canopy from Inuyasha...

A passing branch scratched her cheek. One arm lifted to cover it, feeling a little bit of blood, and she pressed herself back down against Inuyasha's back in case there were anymore branches. His body was warm and protective, and his hair smelled surprisingly good given the fact that she couldn't recall the last time he had bathed. Of course, she had sat him the other day while crossing a bridge and he had plummeted into the ravine below… but he had emerged rather muddy and she doubted that qualified as a bath.

"Will you quit moving back there, woman!?"

"Sorry!" She paused for a moment and then squirmed more, just to aggravate him. She was bitter that her good mood had been ruined by the scratch she now sported on her cheek, and she blamed Inuyasha for it. He was the one steering. He should have been more careful! "Your robe itches."

"Feh."

"Well it does!"

Shippo poked his head out from over the knapsack Kagome wore, his small face scrunched up. "You made Kagome bleed!" he accused, his hands rolled up into tight little balls. "You need to learn how to be more careful and pay more attention!"

"You know, I'd be a little more apt to put up with your complaining if we found some more of the shikon shards lately," Inuyasha said. "All this travelling, carrying you around, and we have nothing to show for it but your complaining about sleeping on hard ground and hungry stomachs."

"Well pardon me! If you didn't have to stop and pee on every…" She paused suddenly, lifting her head to look in another direction. Inuyasha was secretly glad that she wasn't looking at him anymore so that she wouldn't see the blush he could feel creeping up the back of his neck. Kagome was a warm and soft girl—bitchy at times, but her body was always nice and warm and soft. "I sense a jewel shard."

Inuyasha did not have the ability to stop on a dime. They were travelling through the tree tops. Inuyasha slowed first, and five or six large branches later he was able to stop and let Kagome dismount so she could focus on the jewel shard. His clawed hands held her steady as the girl stood awkwardly on the branch. Shippo still clung to the knapsack, his tail twitching. While Kagome felt out the location of the shard, Shippo stared at Inuyasha. And stared. And kept staring, until finally Inuyasha began to wonder if Shippo _knew_ that Inuyasha had been thinking about Kagome's legs and breasts a moment ago. Yes! He had to know, else why would he be constantly staring, accusing, staring, acc—

"It feels strange… it feels like it's a large piece of the jewel shard, but there's something…" Her jaw dropped and she half turned to take Inuyasha's hands, unbeknowingly saving poor Shippo from getting struck on his head. Her dark eyes were shining with excitement. "Inuyasha! There are purified shards in this direction! _Purified_!"

Frankly, Inuyasha didn't see what the big deal was, and the dumbstruck expression on his face said that rather effectively. He had seen Kagome purify tainted shards just by picking them up. As much as he may have been a little disgruntled to admit it, he was pretty sure she had the raw potential in her to rival Kikyou's powers. So why was she excited that this shard was already purified?

Then it occurred to him: maybe someone hadn't gotten to the shard yet. They wouldn't have to fight any demons to get at it! He was momentarily ecstatic that this shard would be so easy, and then he realized that he wouldn't have anything to fight. He actually felt a little sad.

Of course, as he thought about it more, there was no way that purified pieces of the shard could land across Nippon. The crow demon that had ingested the jewel had done a pretty thorough job of using its power. Inuyasha doubted that a piece of the jewel shard had somehow miraculously been saved of being tainted in even the slightest aspect. No, it was in fact more likely that someone had found the shards and had managed to purify it.

…and that meant a potential ally! Suddenly Inuyasha smiled, lifting his face from staring at Kagome's rapt expression to face the direction the jewel shard. Inuyasha liked the sound of an ally. But as he sniffed in the direction, he suddenly began to growl. He could smell blood; lots of blood; more blood than he knew a single person could hold.

"I smell blood," he growled between his clenched teeth.

Kagome turned to see him, her brown eyes wide with surprise. Clearly she had come to the same conclusion he had—that this was an ally, but now they wondered if perhaps they had been mistaken. "Blood?"

"Yeah. A lot of it. You two stay here."

Inuyasha didn't wait for her to agree. He knew that she wouldn't, anyway. Kagome never agreed to anything he suggested. As he leapt down to the bottom of the tree, he could already hear Kagome telling him to wait for her. He could hear her struggling to climb the branches, and somehow Inuyasha resisted the urge to look up, knowing full well how short that skirt of hers was. She hadn't sat him yet for leaving her, and if she caught him looking up, she'd break his neck using that spell. He supposed that the polite thing to do would be to wait for her to climb down, but Inuyasha had been serious when he had told her to wait in the tree. If she wasn't going to listen to his advice, then that was her own damn fault.

Kagome followed as quickly as she could after getting out of the tree. She pushed her way through the trees, still calling out to Inuyasha to wait up for her, even though she knew that he probably wouldn't. When she saw his familiar silver hair and red jacket ahead she skidded to a stop. "Inuyasha, why didn't you… wait… for…"

Slowly, she followed his gaze. They stood on a small cliff that enclosed a rice field. In the short distance, they could see the smoking remains of a village. Kagome might not have had Inuyasha's senses, but even she could see the large demons hanging over half-collapsed walls, arrows and spears sticking out of their bodies like the quills of a porcupine. If that wasn't worse, there were bodies in the rice patties. Some of them were floating on their stomachs. The water around them was clean, but their clothes were still dyed red from their blood. Others had decomposed to the point that they were only semi-human, a leg or an arm laying strewn about the walkways.

The wounds were still visible, but only because they were black from the flies that had come to feast on the bodies. Kagome felt awful—and she felt awful because she had become so accustomed to this kind of carnage that she felt nothing at the sight of the bodies. She glanced at Inuyasha—even he seemed a little disturbed when he saw that she was still level-faced.

Shippo clung close to Kagome's legs, one hand gripping her sock and pulling on it for attention. He, too, had become accustomed to these sights, but he was a creature of few desires. Sometimes being held by Kagome was all it took to feel safe and warm.

"I guess we should go and look for survivors," she heard herself say. She instantly regretted her suggestion. Finding survivors would be wonderful, but she didn't want to get any closer to that village. The images she saw during the day she could deal with, but sometimes at night they resurfaced, and then she saw every detail in horrific accuracy. Inuyasha complained about the fact that she had to go home so often, but Kagome had to just to be able to get a good night sleep.

"I guess we should," he said.

None of them could recall who took the first step, but soon they found themselves standing at the dilapidated gates of the city. Shippo huddled himself close to Kagome's shoulder. Kagome, in turn, stared ashen faced at the surroundings and then suddenly found herself moving towards Inuyasha, reaching for the hem of his robes. Inuyasha lifted his hand to wrap it around hers, grumbling under his breath.

"I told you that you should have stayed in the tree."

Compared to the inside of the city, the view they had seen from the edge of the rice patties seemed like noting. Blood coated the sides of buildings; collapsed walls hid bodies Kagome could smell rotting in the hot sun. Flies buzzed around them. Demon bodies lay in the streets, as did some half-demons. Kagome, Shippo and Inuyasha wandered through the city, avoiding piles of dried blood and intestines or limbs. When Kagome saw the body of a small boy, about the age of seven, laying face down in the dirt, his spine exposed to the air from the deep gouges of claws, she moved closer to Inuyasha.

"He died still holding his weapon," he noted, pointing to the boy in question.

Kagome shivered. "What kind of village is this?"

Inuyasha glanced around. He wasn't aware that he was still holding Kagome's hand in order to offer her comfort or to help her avoid the bodies and flesh in the streets. His other hand was lifted to his nose to try and keep the smell from getting to him. "With all these humans and half-demons around, I think I know. When I was travelling, before I met Kikyou, I heard rumours of a secluded village where they taught people how to track and kill demons. I searched for them, but all I ever heard were rumours. This must be their home."

"Demon slayers?" Kagome blinked innocently. "But then… Inuyasha! Did you hear something?"

"Yeah." He let go of Kagome's hands to grip the handle of his sword, getting ready to draw it out. He did so when a large cat-demon rounded the corner, dragging with it a human body.

Her fur was matter and darkened with dirt, but the creamy colour of the main body still showed in patches. When she heard the sound of Inuyasha drawing his sword she whirled on them, baring her teeth and growling ferociously. At her growl she seemed to suddenly flare up in fire, nipping about at the tips of her tails and her heels.

"Looks like one demon managed to stay alive from the attack," Inuyasha growled, preparing to charge.

"No, Inuyasha! Wait. Didn't you see that she was carrying him by his clothes? I think… I think she was trying to bury him."

The cat mewed, and the flames settled a bit. Kagome thought the cat-demon looked suddenly adorably cute, despite her intimidating size.

"Are you crazy, Kagome?"

"Kagome's correct, Inuyasha. Kirara is only trying to burry her family."

Kagome clapped her hands, smiling at the familiar voice. "Myoga-chan!" She looked around on the ground for him, well aware of the small demon's propensity to be squished by unwary travellers. She felt something sting her cheek and lifted her hand to kill whatever annoying mosquito had bitten her. Only when she heard Myoga cry out did she realize that she had squished him.

XX

It took Myoga only a few minutes of explaining once he had recovered from being caught under Kagome's hand. During that time, Kirara worked steadily away at burying the body she had dragged to the quickly growing graveyard in one corner of the village. Once Kirara understood that these people were friends, she walked to Kagome and gently grasped the green fabric at the back of Kagome's neck, trying to encourage her towards the cave.

Unfortunately, Kagome resisted. Luckily for Kirara—and Miroku—Myoga again intervened and explained. As soon as Kagome found out that someone had survived the wreckage, Kirara had to struggle to keep her tired body matching the pace of the small girl as she relentless ran up the hill to the cave.

She ran in to find a young man laying on the ground. She could see the beads of perspiration on his forehead and the blood that had clotted his wounds. She was surprised to see them clean. Kagome smiled and turned to the cat-demon. "You licked his wounds clean for him?"

Kirara whined, leaning down her head to nudge Miroku's head gently. Her breath stirred his bangs slightly, and for a moment Kagome swore she saw relief on the man's face. Kagome leaned over, feeling the man's brow. He was hot to the touch. The cat-demon had pulled a blanket over him, but it wasn't enough to force out whatever it was that made him sweat and have difficulty breathing. Inuyasha arrived in time for Kagome to shove a bucket into his hands which Kirara had rescued from the village.

"I'm going to need some fresh water, and see if you can find some more blankets. He's sick with a fever. We're going to have to sweat it out of him, and we don't want him to become dehydrated."

Inuyasha stared after her for a moment as she returned to the cave. He actually… kind of liked it when Kagome got all bossy. He slung the bucket over his broad shoulder and returned to the village to find some clean water.

XX

In the cave, Kagome knelt beside the injured man, inspecting him. His wounds were still raw and tender, but they didn't seem to be life threatening. As she waited for Inuyasha to return, Myoga told her the story of the cave and she bound the wounds to help keep them clean. She was glad he still seemed to be unconscious, as Kagome also placed rather liberal amounts of disinfectant on them.

She peeled away his damp clothing. The sight of his chest made her pause for a moment, for several reasons. She could see thin white scars that covered his chest. Despite his robes, he was clearly some kind of a fighter. One particular wound stood out more than the rest; it was still fairly new when he had been attacked in the village. It was a well-muscled chest, with the kind of arms that made her remember girlish dreams of being rescued by knights or pirates. She had seen Inuyasha topless before, and she had to admit that it was tough choosing between the two of them. The other reason why she had stopped was because she could see that his shoulder was glowing from the purified powers of shards of the shikon no tama.

She gently let her hands run down his sides. She could feel one of his ribs give way and he groaned in pain. He had sprained one of his ribs somehow. She made a note of it so that she could give him something for it later.

"Your skills at healing seem to have gotten much better since we first met, Kagome," said Myoga. The small demon sat perched on a nearby rock, scratching his double chin thoughtfully.

"Yeah, well, I've gotten used to patching up Inuyasha. This man was injured earlier, wasn't he?"

Myoga looked towards Kirara for confirmation. If there was an actual conversation between them, then Kagome was unaware of it. "Indeed he was. It seems the villagers found this young man at another destroyed village. They brought him back here, and he was just beginning to recover when the village was attacked again. It seems that he is a friend of one of the girls of the village."

Kagome looked down puzzedly at his hands. The monk's right hand was wrapped up in cloth and beads. "What's happened to his hand?" she asked, leaning down close to it. She brushed it with her fingertips and instantly his hand tightened protectively around the palm.

"Kirara says that it's a weapon," Myoga said.

"A weapon?" Kagome looked down at it uncertainly, then back up to the young man's face. "He is a human, isn't he? What would a normal human be doing with a weapon in their hand? Or are the beads the weapon? Nevermind. Inuyasha's back. I have work to do."

XX

Luckily for Sango, she recalled where she was before she opened her eyes or mouth. Unfortunately, she still had to breathe. She could feel the sand getting into her throat, making her want to gag and spit. The warm, damp earth pressed into her close. She could feel it weighing down her legs, her torso, her arms, and even her hair.

For a moment she was overcome by panic. Which way was up? Which way was down? She needed to get out of the grave, but she didn't know which way to dig. She could feel that she was crying, her tears absorbed by the dirt. She struggled, feeling the earth gave way, and then the pain struck her.

She had been so scared that she couldn't felt the pain until she moved. The pain made her almost scream in agony. Her back burned. The pain was so intense that made her extremeties become numb She waited until she had recuperated before she tried anything else. The pain didn't leave entirely, but at the very least she could feel her arms and legs again.

She knew she had to climb out, despite the pain. If she didn't climb out, she was going to die. First she knew that she had to figure out which way was up. The panic began to set in again, but Sango was able to control it. She knew that that was up because it was gravity that pulled the earth down against her. She bit her tongue, tasting the sand that covered her mouth in a layer of grit. Sango braced herself for the pain, and then pushed.

The journey took forever. Sango had to stop and pause after every push until she could feel her hands and legs again. After each time she rested, she pushed up, slowly moving on to her hands and knees. Her back stung from the earth being mashed into the cuts. Dirt fell down around her. She coughed and vomited up the soil she had breathed in. More soil moved in to fill the spots she had emptied. Her feet and knees were sinking into the soil, patting it down with each step up she took. It wasn't, in the end, as much like climbing as the movement disturbed the earth around her until enough of it had been displaced and she could climb up the edge of the hole.

Sango broke free. She lay on the mound of dirt, breathing heavily. Her mouth tasted like dirt and vomit and she hurt, but inside she embraced it. It reminded her that she was alive. She rejoiced secretly, perversely, in the pain. It blocked the knowledge that the fresh mounds surrounding her belonged to her family and friends.

She wanted to go home. She felt herself beginning to cry. It wasn't slow trickles of tears, but a full out sobbing. Sango collapsed on the edge of her grave and sobbed, screaming in pain, until the rest of her energy left her.

XX

When she woke up for the second time, she was bandaged and cleaned. She lay in bed for a day and a half. In that time, the prince of the castle visited her and cared for her. Sango felt ridiculously weak, being fed like a child. At first she didn't want to eat at all—her father and brother had just died, and now that she was out of the grave, she regretted not having died too.

But then the prince had reminded her of her home. She still had other friends and family. Her spirit became revitalized. Home. Her village would need guidance and protection. She sighed when she thought of being able to go back to Miroku. She wouldn't be able to go with him now. She needed to stay with the village, but at least he was still alive. The thought actually gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling in the pit of or stomach.

So Sango dealt with the pain and the embarrassment at being an invalid, thinking solely of returning home. Then she overheard the men in the other room talking about how the village had been destroyed. Sango sat up in bed, listening.

They said that it had been Inuyasha's fault. Sango felt the rage bubbling up inside of her. She had never experienced hatred like this. She wanted to pay back to this Inuyasha all of the pain that he had inflicted on her. The thought consumed her so much that she was moving before she knew it, walking hunched over to the doorway. Her home had been the only thing left, and now that had been taken from her: innocent babies, little children, women, her family, Kirara, Miroku…

"I want to help. I want to find this Inuyasha! I swear on the grave of my family I will kill him!"

Looks were exchanged—the kinds of looks that Sango hated. _You're injured,_ they said, _and besides, you're just a girl. What could you do?_ And then they exchanged a second look, a more appreciative look. From out of nowhere, like magic, they produced a shard of the shikon jewel.

Sango was not excelled in sensing demons or power, but even she could feel the subtle taint of the jewel. It called to her in a way that the other jewel had not. She wanted it; she wanted its power. She didn't care that it was tainted. She just wanted it.

Sango nodded her consent. Using the jewel, she would fight this demon named Inuyasha, and make him pay for killing off her village.

XX

Miroku was having a pleasant dream. He dreamt that soft fingers were caressing his forehead, bathing his sore and aching body for him and brushing his hair for him. It felt strangely like déjà vu, and it took him some time to figure out why.

Sango.

As soon as he thought of her name, he could see her, cutting through the darkness and the cobwebs that slowed his thoughts like rays of light clearing away rain clouds. He felt ashamed that he hadn't remembered her earlier. He wondered at why he should feel so guilty—so what if he had been having feverish dreams about faceless women attending to his needs? He was a man, and they were just fantasies. But he did; he felt guilty, and it made him upset that the very _idea_ of Sango would cause him to be ashamed that he had forgotten her.

She had power him, and he didn't like that. As if to prove to himself that he had power over his own mind and his actions, he waited until he found that wonderful female scent by him again. Cool fingers dabbed a damp cloth over his forehead. He reached out with his beaded hand and cupped a cheek in his hand.

"Eep!"

He rubbed the fabric that covered it. Ah—it was a nice derriere, but nothing at all like Sango's. Hers was pert and muscular; this one was pert and soft with youth. The woman scrambled away and Miroku bit his tongue to keep from laughing.

"What happened, Kagome?"

_Kagome_. It was a pretty name, he thought. Girls always seemed to have pretty names. He couldn't imagine them being named after something like stinkweed or skunkbloom. But he hadn't been aware that a man had been present! If he had, perhaps Miroku might have not been as… direct in his first conscious introduction to Miss Kagome.

"He… he groped me!" Kagome cried.

"What? Why that… pervert!"

Miroku then had the unpleasant experience of his first conscious with Inuyasha in the form of a bucket connecting with his head. Miroku, even to his own surprise, burst out laughing at the situation. Laughing hurt, and he clutched his aching side as he opened his eyes and sat up. He got his first sight of Kagome and Inuyasha. The first was a petite girl with dark hair and large, naïve eyes—and blessed with the shortest skirt Miroku had ever seen! Inuyasha was a muscular man with long silver hair—a half-demon, to be sure. With them was a young kitsune, staring at him with laughing green eyes and a wide smirk. He wondered if perhaps the girl with the short skirt was Inuyasha's personal companion. Only the lover of a demon would be so brazen and confident to wear such an outfit.

"That was rude!" Kagome said as she hid behind Inuyasha. She continued to look at him stubbornly before her eyes softened and she chided him. "Your injuries haven't fully finished healing yet. You should take it easy, Miroku-sama."

His head shot up. "What? How did you know my name?"

"Myoga told us," Kagome replied, tilting her head, puzzled. "He translated for Kirara."

Miroku sighed. "Kirara… she survived then. Where are the other survivors?" He began trying to get up and out of bed. His cheeks didn't even red when he realized he half-clothed. Miroku was fixing the cloth and beads on his cursed wrist before he became aware that Kagome hadn't answered yet. He looked back up at them. "Well? Where are they?"

"Miroku-sama… please understand… we arrived here late…" Kagome sighed. She spread her hands apologetically. "You and Kirara were the _only_ survivors."

He didn't know he had fallen back down until he struck ground. He stared up at Kagome, trying to comprehend what she had told him. He couldn't understand all of those people suddenly being gone. The boys he had been playing with, the girl who had fixed his staff, the children tending the fields… gone. Miroku hung his head in shame, closing his eyes and struggling to keep back the tears. Kirara whined and climbed into his lap, trying to be comforting. Miroku could do naught but place a hand over her back.

That was the second village that had been destroyed because he had been in it. It was all his fault. And Sango…

God, what would he say to Sango when she came back home? He wanted suddenly to run away. He wanted to run so that he would never have to tell her. He was such a coward, running away from a beautiful woman… Miroku took a deep breath to calm him down. He couldn't run. He needed to be there with Sango. He would be with her through this. He wouldn't run away. Why? Miroku didn't know why. He just knew that he needed to be there.

"There were others," he told them. "Men, and one woman away from the village it was attacked. Has there been any sign of them yet?" The humanoids and Kirara shook their heads. Miroku's heart felt heavy, but not without hope.

It had been a long time since he had felt hope—not since before he had met Sango. Miroku was able to push many of his feelings deep down inside himself where they could not be seen. He didn't need those feelings disrupting the pleasant, yet serious, mask he wore. But the hope he let burn. He could feel it warming himself again, thawing bits and pieces of himself he had long forgotten existed.

"I… I think I should like to sleep some more. Will you wake me if there is any sign of the party?"

Kagome smiled. "Of course we will, Miroku-sama."

His shoulders relaxed. Miroku lay back down, reclining on his side. He didn't sleep at first, but listened to Kagome puttering about the cave while Inuyasha went off to hunt for their supper. Kagome gave him more medicine and, since he was awake, allowed him some semi-solid food. Miroku knew at the way that his stomach revolted at the rabbit stew she had cooked that he had been quite sick for some time for his stomach to have become so sensitive to food.

After eating he lay on his side again, staring up at the face of Midoriko and thinking. What had those bees been? Why had they effected the _kazaana_ like that? Where was Sango? Who were these strange people who cared for him? He idly rubbed his shoulder and the shikon jewel, having an inkling that perhaps the shikon shards had something to do with everything crazy that had happened in his life. That somehow, meeting Sango who had the power to sense approaching demons and fight them, and the priestess Kagome who carried shards around her neck, the demon Kirara who protected Midoriko's village, and the grumpy demon Inuyasha were not just chance meetings.

Kirara disturbed his thoughts, worming under his neck in an attempt to get comfortable. Miroku bit back a laugh at the way her soft fur and wet nose tickled his jaw. "All right," he mumbled to her, closing his eyes. "I get it. It's bed time. You make a wonderful nurse, Kirara. I'm too frightened to disagree."

Kirara mewed, as if to agree.

XX

A few days later Miroku was helping Inuyasha and Kagome to bury the bodies. He had recovered well, even if the thought of solid food still did fill his stomach sooner than it should have. Miroku had been gravely injured before and knew that his appetite would return eventually. When it did, his dizzy spells would cease as well and he would be good as new—possibly even better.

Miroku worked steadily to fill the dirt over the grave. The smell was horrible, but Miroku could deal with it. It was times like this when he was happy that he didn't have senses like Inuyasha. He didn't even know how the half-demon could work, and yet Inuyasha steadily ploughed on. Miroku began to respect him for his work ethic.

Kagome returned from the fields with Kirara, carrying with her a bundle of flowers. Kirara had spent much time with Kagome when Kagome was alone. Miroku secretly wondered if the overprotective Inuyasha had asked Kirara to stay with Kagome to protect her. He also wondered if maybe Kirara didn't enjoy Kagome's company. Often by night Miroku had seen Kagome staring off into space, and sometimes staring down at Inuyasha when the half demon dozed, and her expression was one of peace and respect… and love. It was the same expression Miroku could see staring down from the face of Midoriko.

"The villagers told me" Miroku said, wiping sweat from his bow, "that the only place there were groomed flowers was in the graveyards because only dead demon slayers had the time to enjoy them. Most of the people buried here are too young to enjoy the flowers."

"Most?" Kagome began setting flowers over the graves. "They were all too young."

They stood in silence for some time. Miroku leaned on his shovel. The wind ruffled his hair slightly, easing the warmth from his body. "As much as I have enjoyed your company these past few days, and as thankful as I am that you saved me, when Sango returns to this village, I will be leaving. By myself. I have… things that must be accomplished."

Kagome frowned. "I understand, Miroku-sama, but are you sure that you wouldn't stay here? It seems like after such a devastation, they would need someone like you to help them through this harsh time."

"I agree, but I cannot stay here."

She turned to him. Her face was sweet and innocent. Miroku had seen expressions like it before—on the faces of brothel women when they promised him they were virgins. It was feigned innocence. Kagome had one of the bests masks for it that Miroku had seen in a long time. He wondered if it was perfect because Kagome did have a certain naïve charm that leant the expression reality. "Are you not going to stay because of your hand?"

"…What?"

"Your hand. You keep it wrapped up. I wondered why."

Miroku's eyes darkened when he looked down at the hand in question. His expression was incredibly bitter. What was it with the women he had been meeting lately? How were they all able to read him so well? What happened to his mask? What had happened to his disarming smile?

"That's exactly why I'm leaving," he conceeded.

"Why? What's wrong with it? It works quite well."

Inuyasha harrumphed when he saw that Kagome's cheeks were turning red when she remembered how Miroku had groped her. "You would know, wouldn't you?" he grumbled to himself.

Miroku heard it and wondered. Despite having spent the last few days with Kagome and Inuyasha he was yet unsure of their precise relationship. It was strange seeing a priestess with a half-demon. To boot, they often stayed up late at night talking to each other. He cought them exchanging looks, and yet sometimes it seemed that Inuyasha would go out of his way to insult Kagome. Perhaps it was because he felt so uncertain of their relationship he felt the need to justify the need for his decision to leave. After all, Kagome was a sweet girl, and he hated to think that she saw him as nothing but a coward. It was Kagome who had saved him, and he would hate for her to think that she had saved a coward. As for Inuyasha, he was a warrior. Miroku didn't want Inuyasha to think him a weakling.

So he explained everything about his hand, just as he had to Sango. Kagome and Inuyasha listened patiently. When he was done, he turned to look at them. He thought he would see pity on Kagome's face, and perhaps a resolute acceptance on Inuyasha's face. He found neither. He found anger. Kagome's hands were clenched and her brows were furrowed.

"That's horrible!"

Inuyasha was trying hard to look nonchalant. His mouth showed no hint of the anger that filled his heart, but his gold eyes were alight with it. "That's what happened, hm? Let me guess. Your grandfather was a womanizer."

Miroku laughed weakly. "He did enjoy the female form. Having a fine eye for women and an appreciation of their... attributes is a family gift," Miroku said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Regardless of that, the fact of the matter is that we're after this Naraku as well. Maybe..." Kagome looked up at Inuyasha hopefuly. "Maybe he could come with us? It would be another person on sentry duty."

"It would be another mouth to feed," argued Inuyasha.

"It would be more company."

"It would be constantly trying to look up that short skirt of yours."

"It doesn't like being referred to as 'it'," Miroku interrupted. He rubbed his head, feeling the build up of sweat and dandruff. He suddenly wanted a bath very badly. "Besides, I prefer travelling alone, even if the company I was going to be travelling with would have been a pretty lady such as yourself, Miss Kagome. The road I walk is too dangerous for company."

Kagome was about to argue, but Kirara stopped her. She had been working hard for most of the morning, and so they had made her relax in the shade of a collapsed wall. Her ears suddenly perked up and she lifted her head. Her pink nose twitched as she sniffed the air. She swished her tail and then bolted towards the gate. Miroku and the others stared after her, rather startled by the sudden outburst.

Then Miroku was dropping his shovel and running after her, calling to her to wait for him. Inuyasha scratched an ear as he tried to figure out what was going on. The monk glanced over his shoulder, smiling broadly.

"Sango must be on her way back! It's the only thing I can think of that would make her react like that! It's Sango!"

Inuyasha sniffed the breeze. What he smelled made his hair stand on end. He didn't know what Sango smelled like, but Inuyasha had learned what Naraku smelled like. He smelled Naraku coming towards them. He growled and was about to take off when he felt Kagome touch his arm gently. Her touch instantly made his growls stop—he hated that her touch could calm him down so quickly, but Naraku's scent continued to leave him agitated.

"Inuyasha, I can sense a tainted stone coming this way."

"So what?" he snarled. "I smell Naraku coming."

Kagome's eyes widened a little in surprise, but she remained adament. "The stone is coming from the same direction Kirara and Miroku took off in. What if this Sango was..." Her voice weakly trailed off.

"Tainted?" Kagome's head bobbed up and down affirmatively. Inuyasha's ears pulled down. Everything in him told him to go after Naraku. Instead he found himself staring into Kagome's innocent eyes and caving in.

"I saved him once, Inuyasha. I don't want to see all of my hard work go to waste."

Inuyasha sighed. "Fine." He scooped Kagome up and helped her get on his back so they could catch up to Miroku and Kirara. "We'll go save the monk."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Sango straightened and fixed her mask. She was feeling better than she had in ages. Her back wasn't hurting at all anymore. She felt limber, energetic—_alive_. More alive than she had ever felt before. She could feel every inch of her body pumping with strength. Her whole skin felt electrically charged. She felt grace, beautiful, and more than any, deadly.

She was going to kill Inuyasha.

"Be careful," the man who had accompanied her said. "Inuyasha and his companion are very tricky."

"I will." Sango grabbed her weapon and performed a last-minute check to make sure she was ready of fight. She couldn't wait to fight. She could almost taste the violence on her tongue and it tasted good. It tasted like fire and warmth that made her stomach quake with nerves. It delighted her and terrified her in some strange, alien way. "I can't thank you enough for escorting me here."

"It was nothing."

Sango stared at the cloaked man over her shoulder. "I mean it. There were times when I was so consumed with grief or pain that if you hadn't been there to encourage me forward, or remind me of what I had lost, why I was doing this… I never would have been able to do this. Thank you… all this time together and you still haven't told me your name. Can't I at least thank you properly?"

His head lifted slightly, allowing the light to touch the man's chin. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her intently. For some reason, bile rose at the sheer thought that he was studying her, judging her. "You may call me Naraku."

It was the cold that saved her—the cold that had protected her heart since she had dug herself out of her own grave rose to cover her face. Even her eyes were emotionally detached from that name. There was nothing on her face to tell him that she recognized that name, and that once she had hated it and cursed it from the bottom of her heart. The bile tried to rise again, but the cold blocked it. She somehow found the warmth to make her words sound real, rather than vomited up.

"Thank you, Naraku."

Her grip tightened on her weapon and she walked away. She could not stand to see that man anymore.

She would kill Inuyasha for killing her village.

Then she would kill Naraku for having hurt Miroku.

* * *

Inuyasha was running, trying to catch up with Miroku and Kirara when he suddenly skidded to a stop. Kagome screamed, but more from surprise than hurt. His arm went around her to steady her and his body sheltered her as the trees around them toppled over. His sharp ears could pick up the sound a retreating weapon. Kagome's chest brushed his as she breathed heavily.

"It sounded like a boomerang…"

"A what?"

"A boomerang. In my time, it's a toy from Australia, but originally they used it to hunt small game. You throw it and it comes back to you. But I've never heard of it being able to do anything like this!"

Inuyasha growled, revealing sharp, white teeth. "Stay here, Kagome." She opened her mouth to protest, but he was already taking off. He heard Kagome cuss and start coming after him, taking her time to avoid getting scratched on the trees around them. He laughed in his head, snorting. She would never learn to listen to him. She was so damn contrary!

He ran out of the trees. He couldn't see anyone attacking in the trees. The open fields were by far more useful. He dug his toes into the ground to steady himself as his ears swivelled to pick up sounds. He could hear something coming in… fast… from behind him! He rolled and ducked as something spinning and swift went right over his head. Had he been standing, it would have struck his neck. As he watched it fly by, something silver caught his sight. Some of his hairs floated down, one landing over the bridge of his nose.

He had been lucky. That weapon, whatever it was, was sharp. It didn't look it, but it was. And it smelled, too. It smelled a little like a demon… lots of them. He was going have to watch for that smell—if he relied on his sense of sound, then the next one might be too late.

As he watched, a woman walked forward from the trees. Holding her hand high, she caught the handle of the weapon and spun it around to lie flush against her back. She made it look as if she were catching nothing more than a ladies' fan. She wore a meta mask over her face. Her eyes were brown, cold, and staring directly at him. "So… you're Inuyasha."

Her voice was deep for a woman's… nothing like Kagome's. Inuyasha realized he was still lying in the dirt and stood up, proudly tossing back his hair and holding his chin in the air. "I am. You wanna make something of it?"

Inuyasha crossed his arms—bad idea. She threw the weapon again without warning. Having his arms crossed threw his balance off and made him slow to react. The weapon went whirling over his head again. Inuyasha was about to launch a counterattack in the time it took the weapon to reverse course when he caught sight of something black coming at him from his side very quickly. He turned—it was the girl!

_She's fast._ He couldn't help the appreciation he felt at how quick she was. Inuyasha was about to grab her into a throw and use her own momentum against her when he saw something in her hands—a sword. He had to dodge—_again_. _Damn it! She's keeping me offensive. I can't attack if—oh, god! What is that smell?_

So concerned about the sword had been Inuyasha that he had failed to notice that she held something in her other hand. As he dodged she threw it into the ground hard. Instantly powder flew up in a cloud so think that Inuyasha could not smell anything. It stank. It stank worse than sickly sweet perfume or a dead skunk. It also made it hard to see.

"Inuyasha!"

Kagome's voice. Great. He threw her a disgusted look over his shoulder. "I thought I told you to stay where you were!"

"Pay attention!" His price for worrying over Kagome was a sharp pain through one of his shoulders. He felt blood running as Sango withdrew her weapon from his shoulder. Inuyasha growled, his hand reaching for tetsusaiga, but already she was drawing back. "I'm going to make you pay for destroying my village!"

"What?"

"We never destroyed any village!" Kagome shouted at her, a frantic edge to her voice.

"You destroyed my village! Just like you destroyed all those other places! They're all dead now because of you! My family, my friends…"

Inuyasha lunged for her while she was blinded by her tears. It was an underhanded method, but…

"No! Don't kill her!"

He didn't see why, but he dropped his sword anyway. His instincts told him to kill her. She was a threat. _A good, honest threat. I haven't had a good fight in a while._ Instead, his attack shoved her to the ground. His nose was blocked by her previous attack, and her scent evaded him. The weapon she had thrown whizzed by overhead and lodged itself in the dirt.

"Look, I don't know what you're on, but we didn't destroy your village! It was a tragedy, but we had nothing to do with it! Argh!" He was blinded by pain when she popped up a hidden weapon and scratched his face with it. He could feel blood trickling down his cheek from the large gash. She rolled away from under him, and he had to roll back himself when she attacked with her sword and dagger at the same time.

_Hidden wakazashis, stink bombs, weapons… there's more to this girl than meets the eye._ Inuyasha saw the boomerang lying beside him in the dirt and reached for it, intent to use it as a shield. He was astonished when his first tug resulted in nothing but a scant few inches of movement. He had to actually use his whole arm and lift it, rather than just using it flippantly like he did his own weapon. _She's strong, this girl… and bleeding!_

It was then he had noticed that his hand was covered in blood. He knew that he was wounded, but his jacket had protected him and he was a quick healer. He wouldn't have bled this much. It was from Sango… He recalled grappling her. It was from her back.

"Inuyasha!" Kagome was waving frantically, trying to get his attention. She didn't seem to realize that in a fight against an opponent like Sango, distractions were deadly. "The jewel! The tainted jewel! It's coming from Sango!"

"What?!"

* * *

Miroku had lost Kirara. He wandered the trees that lined the village past the now empty and weed-covered rice fields. Occasionally he called out, hoping that Inuyasha, Kagome, or Kirara would hear him. Hanging on to his shoulder, Shippou cried. "We're lost, aren't we, Miroku?"

"We're not lost."

"Yes we are. Kagome! Kagome! …I want Kagome, Miroku," he whined. His small, chubby hand patted Miroku's neck, as if trying to make the suddenly irate monk comfort him. His tail twitched. "We're going to be eaten by whatever monsters it was that destroyed the village and Kagome is going to cry over our graves and Inuyasha will be all grumpy that he yelled at me and it'll all be because we're dead!"

Miroku reached up to grab Shippou from the back of his shirt and hoisted the kitsune off of his shoulder. He looked at him very sternly, his blue eyes a very dark shade. "Shippou. Listen to me. We're not going to die."

Shippou sniffled loudly. His eyes almost looked a little teary. Still, he tried to put on a brave face. "You look like Inuyasha when you get mad," he grumbled.

He heaved a sigh. God, he loved children, but… but what? He loved children. Miroku didn't let go of Shippou yet. The kitsune was used to being carried around by the scruff of his neck. Miroku had nearly forgotten that Shippou had been with them all—watching Miroku recover from poisoning, watching the bodies bury, watching the flies of swarm hang in the ear as they dragged the bodies into the mass graves they spent hours digging… of course Shippou was going to be scared and seeking comfort.

"Shippou, I promise you, you are not lost. I know my way back to the village, I just don't know where Sango or Kirara are. Even if we were lost—which we are not—Inuyasha would be sure to find us. He has that great sense of smell, doesn't he?"

"Y… yeah."

Before he could give Shippou more words of comfort, he heard the sounds of fighting. They sounded close. He let Shippou climb back on his shoulder and they gave up their pursuit of Sango to head towards the sounds of obvious fighting. When Miroku heard Kagome calling out he hurried faster.

"Why does she mean this much to you, this Sango? You seem like normally such a calm guy, I didn't think a girl could get your feathers this ruffled." Shippou's green eyes seemed to glow, they were so wide. "You must like her. Ah! You're blushing! You do like her! Is she pretty?"

Miroku gave the little kitsune a friendly wink. "If poetry had a voice and a face, it would be hers," he replied solemnly. Shippou smirked at Miroku's mask, recognizing the flattery and the truth underneath it.

"You could have just said yes."

Perhaps because of his youth, Shippou could not comprehend what Miroku had meant by 'poetry'. He thought Miroku was just being flamboyant, and trying to distract Shippou with pretty words to hide how he really felt about Sango. Shippou had learned that Miroku had a habit of flirting with Kagome in order to keep Kagome at bay—Inuyasha always leapt between them to make Miroku back off. When they entered the clearing in which Inuyasha and Sango were fighting, however, Shippou realized that despite Miroku's flamboyant language, he had been telling the truth.

Sango was beautiful. As she fought her ponytail lashed behind her, caught in the wind. Her whole body was a weapon as she dodged and countered. Shippou, although he had seen Inuyasha fight many times, had never seen a woman as fast as Sango was. She used tricks and surprise to her advantages, and yet she didn't seem to be fighting dirty—just taking advantage of Inuyasha's weaknesses. For a moment, he wondered if perhaps Sango might even be a better fighter than Inuyasha. Inuyasha was an idiot when he fought, using brute strength and speed rather than his brain. Sango used her brain when she fought. But no, Shippou decided, Sango couldn't be better than Inuyasha. As much as he hated to admit it, Shippou half-wondered that Inuyasha was unbeatable.

"Sango!"

Miroku's voice made her wobble as she threw her weapon. Her whirled around in his direction, eyes widening at the sight. Inuyasha, having dodged another attack, stood up and watched the proceedings. Sango slowly reached up to brush loose strands of brown hair from her face and pull her mask away. She looked as white as marble.

"Houshi-sama?"

He had heard her say his name often. "Houshi-sama, could you please hold the door for me?" "How are you feeling today, Houshi-sama?" "More tea, Houshi-sama?" She had said it in jest, in play, in seriousness, and even in anger. But never had she sounded so vulnerable when she said it. Never had his name sounded so fragile. Miroku nodded, a smile that did not touch his lips dancing in his eyes.

"But… but you died. They told me you died." She suddenly seemed to remember the fight and turned to look at Inuyasha. When she saw that the half-demon was doing nothing but watching, she tentatively took a few steps forward. Her voice hardened. "They told me that Inuyasha killed you."

"It was Inuyasha and Miss Kagome who saved me, Sango. And, of course, Kirara." He smiled at the cat twining about his legs. Kirara mewed loudly, and when Miroku looked up, he thought he saw tears in the breeze that caused Sango's hair to float.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't keep the smile when he saw Sango. He knew, as did she, that he and Kirara were all the family she had left—presuming she would even call him as much. He wanted to run to her and hold her in his arms and lie and say that everything would be all right, but it wouldn't be. Nor was she running to him. She was keeping her distance. Miroku could feel the subtle changes in her, even from where he stood. She didn't feel like the same woman he had left.

The Sango he knew had held her chin high with pride. The Sango he had known had this underlying feel of joy, tenderness, and laughter. The Sango he knew that he had fallen in love with had nursed him back to life. This woman was as pale as death, suddenly filled with uncertainty. Her face was cold, her brown eyes frightened, and frightened the most of him.

Miroku took his own few steps forward. "I _am_ real Sango."

Sango wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to, but she could feel herself pulling away from her, terrified. She took steps back on shaking, weak legs to keep the distance between them. She was too scared to believe him, and too scared that he really was an illusion or a trick. Sango wanted to reach out and grip his hand—the hand that held the rough cloth of the _kazaana_—but she couldn't do it. If she did it now, she knew she'd break into a million pieces. She laughed wildly in her mind when the reality sunk in: she was mentally unstable. With her anchor, her desire to kill Inuyasha, suddenly gone, she felt loss adrift in thoughts and feelings she couldn't deal with.

Whispers in her mind made her turn from Miroku. She could hear Naraku talking to her as he hid amongst the trees. "The monk is merely a trick, Sango. The priestess that accompanies Inuyasha is doing it. Ignore him. Concentrate on the fight at hand!"

Naraku. Naraku had helped her. Naraku had guided her. Naraku had encouraged her along. Naraku had given her the shikon shard that made her strong.

"Sango!" The priestess in question was standing beside Inuyasha, calling to her. Her face was young and innocent—almost carefree, Sango thought enviously. "Please! Stop this! You're injured!"

"Injured?"

Her voice must have carried, because Sango nodded. She lifted Inuyasha's hand by his wrist. It was coated in dark blood. Sango remained unblanched by the sight. "It's from you! It's from your back!"

_My… back?_ Sango felt like she was walking through a fog. Slowly, she reached behind herself and touched the center of her back, not from far where Kohaku's weapon had pierced her skin. It didn't hurt at all. She thought for a moment that the wound was completely healed, and then she felt the warm blood on her fingertips. She was still bleeding—bleeding deeply enough that it had actually begun to soak through the clothing she wore.

She wondered why she didn't hurt. At first it had been agonizing, feeling like hot needles were being driven into her feet and up her legs with each step. Slowly, as she continued to walk, the pain had been lessened. Why? She was a good healer, but she wasn't a hanyou like Inuyasha—she should have had trouble walking for much longer than two or three days.

When he had been purifying the jewel shard she had found, Miroku had explained to her how they worked. They absorbed feelings around them, like a sponge. They could become strong with evil emotions—hatred in particular—giving the bearer unnatural strength, speed, and constitution. It came with a heavy cost. The jewel in turn fed the emotions that had sparked the power within it, feeding the hatred and anger until the feelings dominated the individual, he said. Sango had hated Inuyasha. She had thirsted for his blood. The thought of killing him was sometimes so intense that she had had trouble sleeping or staying still. She had only felt good when she had been pursuing her prey—and through it all _Naraku had encouraged her_.

_The jewel! I'm using the jewel!_ The desire to fight Inuyasha suddenly had a new target. Sango gripped the strap of her weapon and spun, ready to attack. "Naraku!" The cry pierced the air as she let _hiraikotsu_ fly. The line of trees and bushes in which Naraku had been hiding was cropped down, but there was no sign of the man there.

Something pinched tightly in her back. It was followed by a wave of pain so intense that Sango dropped instantly to her knees. Rocks bit into her palms and knees, but she could not feel them for the fire burning at her back. Sango bit her tongue to keep from sobbing and crying out in the pain. _The jewel! The jewel is gone!_

Miroku saw it happen. Her saw Naraku's bees sneak in a black and yellow blur and take the shard from Sango's back. He began to run after it, knowing that the insect would head back with its prize to its master, Naraku. He only prayed that he was the same monster he had followed. He yearned to go to Sango's side, to be the rock she needed at this time, but he knew that he was no rock. He was the wind, and could not be relied upon. But if he could slay Naraku, if it was the Naraku that had cursed his grandfather, he knew that he could come back and simply _be _for once!

"Miroku! Don't forget to get the shard for us!" Kagome cried after him. From the corner of his gaze he could see her heading towards Sango, and it made him glad. Kagome could be there for her. Regardless, he shook his head. The shards were a wonderful gain, and he could understand why Kagome wanted the jewel, but Miroku wanted Naraku.

He knew, however, that it was pointless. He doubted very much that he would be able to keep up with the quick insect. He felt Kirara brush his legs and he growled with menacing thoughts. The damn cat was going to get in his way and ruin his chances to catch Naraku! His thoughts were followed almost immediately by the sudden feeling of warmth and fire between his legs. For a panicked moment he thought he had been caught in some trap before the near unbearable heat was replaced with thick, soft fur.

Miroku found himself astride Kirara, travelling at twice... thrice the speed he had been at before! At this rate, he could overtake the poisonous bee! Gripping his weapon in one hand and a handful of Kirara's cream-coloured fur in the other, he leaned down and rested his cheek against her head for a moment to murmur his thanks. She flicked her ears in response, a perfectly cat-like response.

Sango watched him go. She wished desperately that she could go with him. For a moment, she felt her anger spread through her whole body, numbing the pain to a dull throb when she thought of running her _wakazashi_ through Naraku's heart. She couldn't believe she had been traveling with him for so long! She couldn't beleive she had allowed herself to be manipulated by him like some kind of weak and mindlessl little pawn!

At that moment Sango detested herself. At that moment, the person she hated the most was herself.

A hand gripped her upper arm and helped to Sango to her unsteady feet. She looked up to find herself staring into beautiful gold eyes. Inuyasha's mouth was set in a tight line, but she had to admit that even angry and grumpy he had a beautiful face. To her, it only made Miroku, who did not have any demon blood to enhance his appearance, so much more wholesome and handsome.

"I didn't kill your family," he growled.

Sango nodded. "Yes. I know that know."

His face softened a little. He stared down at her almost shyly, from behind long lashes. "It's going to be okay, Sango."

That Sango didn't really believe, but at least Inuyasha had tried to help.

* * *

"Why aren't we going to the cavern?" Miroku asked. He had paused as they had drudged, half-defeated, through the village. Although they had beaten Naraku, he had only been a puppet, and they had failed in saving the jewel shard. Things appeared bleak for them. It was questionable whether or not Sango would survive. "It's safe there."

"It's safe in the village, too," Inuyasha argued.

"Miroku, Sango is very badly injured. The town is closer. The sooner we stop, the soonder we can fix her wounds," Kagome argued.

He knew that she was badly injured. Why did they have to remind him? At least Shippou remained quiet, his green eyes focussed on Miroku with frightening insight. Shippou had concluded how much Miroku cared for Sango, how much he respected her. He at least wasn't trying to calm Miroku down with soothing phrases like 'badly injured'. She was near death. Why not just come out and say it? Miroku was anything but an idealist. He could handle the knowledge. The way that Kagome spoke to him, like he was a petulant child unaware of the danger Sango was in, grated on his nerves.

He looked down at Sango. They had placed her on her stomach on Kirara's back. The back of her fighting uniform glistened in the dying light of day with her blood. Her hair hung over her face, hiding her pained expression. Her breathing was audible and ragged. Miroku walked beside Kirara, a hand placed on Sango's shoulder to help keep her steady—and, he wondered, maybe even to help calm him. So long as he could hear her breathing, he knew that she was still alive.

"Can you imagine?" he asked quietly. When Kagome tilted her head at him curiously, his voice strengthened. "Can you imagine waking up in your home village and finding it looking like that? To wake up in a house that was your neighboor's and is now empty, burned, and half-fallen apart? It would be frightening and maybe even traumatizing. I don't want to put Sango through that, Miss Kagome, and I'm certain that you don't want to do that either. Let's go to the cave. It's just a bit farther. ...Sango always loved the cave. She found being close to Midoriko peaceful."

Kagome stared at him a moment. He hadn't meant to say the last bit so loudly. He also cursed himself for using the past tense. He wondered if perhaps he had just let Kagome know too much. But she nodded her assent and they continued on up past the village to the cave, just as Miroku had asked.

* * *

Sango woke up when someone gently touched the back of her neck and helped her sit up. She was laying on her side. It was making her right arm numb. She woke up to the serene face of Midoriko staring down at her. She smiled, feeling comforted by the sight. If she was going to die, at least she was going to die with a real heroine in her presence. She would die from battle wounds. There would be honor in that. She had redeemed herself by helping Miroku and Inuyasha fight Naraku. She had made amends. She would welcome death when it came.

Instead of death she found Kagome offering her a small capsule and a bit of water. She smiled softly when Sango drank the capsule without question and had some water. Kagome let her keep the cup. "You lost a lot of blood. Some more water will help your body make new blood cells."

Although Sango didn't know what blood cells were, she did know that Kagome was right. She reached for the cup sitting by her, feeling the blood flowing back into her numb hand when she realized that she was not wearing a shirt. For a moment she looked around in a panic until Kagome rubbed her arm soothingly.

"Don't worry. I told the boys that they weren't around coming anywhere near you. And surely it's okay for me to be here, isn't it? Someone had to bind your wounds, and you don't have anything I haven't seen before," she laughed. "It was almost a blessing to clean and bind your wounds, Sango. Inuyasha is a boy and fusses and fights me. Of course, you were unconscious. We haven't been introduced, have we? Properly, I mean. I'm Kagome Higurashi."

"Sango," she gasped. She didn't really have the breath for much more, laying back down on her side. Kagome seemed far too chipper for her mood. She took a deep breath. "How bad is it?"

Instantly Kagome's good mood banished. "Bad. I won't lie. I gave you a painkiller, so hopefully you should be able to sleep without much pain, but I don't know how much good it will really do. If I had something stronger, I'd give it to you, but... With lots of rest and water you shoul... you might..."

"It's that bad?" Sango braced herself and rolled over. She didn't want to see Kagome. She kept her eyes focussed on Midoriko above her. "I'd like to be alone now, Miss Kagome. Thank you for the water."

"But..."

_"Please_."

Kagome slowly gathered her things and stood up. She glanced back over her shoulder at Sango worriedly. She wondered if Sango had the strength and the will to even want to heal herself. Kagome knew that if her whole family was dead, if she knew she could never tuck her little brother into bed or laugh at one of her grandfather's old stories, she didn't know if she would want to be saved. "Would you at least like Kirara to visit with you? She's been missing you, wandering around like a ghost. You've been asleep for two and a half days. She hasn't been able to eat anything at that time."

When Sango didn't immediately answer, Kagome wondered if she had already been helped to sleep by the Advil she had given her. Then, almost imperceptably, Sango noded her head. Kagome left feeling like she had at least done something right. However, had she known that in the quiet of the cave Inuyasha and Miroku's words drifted further than they had thought, Kagome may not have been so quick to congratulate herself.

* * *

"Are you still planning on going off on your own afterwards, Miroku?" Shippou asked. He sat perched atop a large rock, his furry little legs swinging. Miroku nodded. "So then what are we going to do about Sango? Couldn't we take her with us?"

Inuyasha frowned across the small fire at the kitsune for even suggesting it. "I don't think so. Didn't you see the look in her eyes? She's unstable, and even if she isn't fighting me anymore, she can turn on us. Sango _can't_ be trusted. She _won't_ be coming with us."

"That's unfair, Inuyasha," Miroku growled from his place by the fire. "She's lost everything and everyone she ever cared about. Of course she's going to feel a little confused and overwhelmed. She can't be blamed for it, and she can't be ostracized for it."

"I lost everything though, and I'm not like Sango."

Miroku looked up at Shippou and smiled, patting one of his little feet. "You lost your father, Shippou. But you found Inuyasha and Kagome. You have friends who care for you, feed you, protect you, and even bathe with you, you lucky little fox."

Shippou nodded. "And Sango has us too. We can protect her from Naraku and be her family."

Inuyasha leapt up to his feet, his fist balled. "Didn't you hear me? I said no. No! Sango isn't in the same situation Shippou was, and I never even wanted the little brat to come with us. She's unstable, don't you hear me? She's broken. She's a great fighter when she's powered by a shikon shard, sure, but she's _broken_, Miroku!"

Anger burned in Miroku's chest. He wanted to do nothing more than to stand up and strike Inuyasha for what he had said about Sango. His voice was low. "The Sango I knew is still there inside of her. She is _far_ from being broken, Inuyasha! Sango can pull through this; I know she can! And Shippou's right. She has us Inuyasha. She isn't completely alone."

"But she wants to be alone." Kagome joined the conversation, sitting nest to Inuyasha around the campfire. She sighed, poking the dirt floor out of a feeling of overwhelming helplessness. "Kirara's with her now. Hopefully having her best friend will remind Sango that she's not alone and that there's at least there's one person who still needs her. I just wish that there was something more that I could have done. I don't know if Sango has the will to want to live through this."

"She has to," Miroku muttered to himself.

* * *

Despite his arguments, he knew that Inuyasha and Kagome had a solid argument. He had seen Sango's expression when she had realized that he was still alive. He had seen her expression when she had been fighting Inuyasha, perfectly and utterly intent on killing him. Sango was unstable. He knew, from seeing his father die before his eyes, that such a thing could shatter a person. Miroku had loved his father, respected him, and yet he knew that he had not been as close to his father as Sango had been to hers—and that relationship had been far surpassed by the one Sango had with Kohaku. Seeing them both killed must have completely shattered Sango.

But she had pulled herself together enought to fight Inuyasha. Somehow she had been able to pick up the broken peices of herself and focus herself on killing Inuyasha. Miroku could guess why—duty, honor, revenge. They were the same things that had caused him to pull himself together when his father had died, the things that had carried him through each day of living with the wind-tunnel. He and Sango were not so different from one another.

And now he was whole. The thought of his father caused neither undue sadness nor mind-numbing anger. He had learned to accept it, and learned how to mourn it when the time was appropriate. Sango could learn too, in time. She just needed to be helped through, the way Mushin had helped him through. Shippou was right. Sango was not alone, and she needed to be reminded of such. That was why Miroku decided to wake up before the others and to go and see Sango on his own.

He pretended that seeing her chest with only her breasts bound did not burn into his mind. He pretended that seeing the pain on her face didn't disturb him deeply. Miroku was good at pretending. He pulled the covers over her to give her her modesty, disturbing Kirara in the process. He was a little jealous that the cat was able to be held tightly against Sango's chest, sleeping over her heart. Kirara opened her eyes and shook herself off, helping herself to the folds of Miroku's robes as a new bed when the monk sat down.

Sango awoke when she felt Kirara leave her. She opened her eyes to Miroku still tucking the worn blanket around her chest for her. Her face was so pale that Miroku could see the faint blush of appreciation. He returned it with a disarming smile.

Although he had always fancied himself a player and a bit of a trickster, Miroku knew that this would be his masterpeice. Sango, his masterpeice. He like the sound of that. Miroku knew from his own experience that the things Sango needed was to feel safe and loved, but the latter he could not offer her. It would be too mean. If she grew to depend on him and then he died, what would become of her? She might become even more unstable than she was no. No, he had to make her dependent.

"Good morning, Sango," he said gently. His voice was smooth, but almost cold. He didn't want to push her away by being too cheerful, the way Kagome had.

"Leave me alone, Houshi-sama."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Sango. I'm not like Kagome. I'm incredibly stubborn. Besides, this is my chance to repay you. You once helped me back from the brink of death, and now I intend to do the same."

Her brown eyes were hollow. "You want to repay a debt? That's why you want to help me?"

Miroku mentally winced. He had stepped into that one. Even if she was sick, Sango's mind was still sharp, and worse, she was on the defensive. Miroku was going to have to tread carefully. "No. It's not the only reason. But after this we'll be on even ground, and I don't like owing people. Do you need anything, Sango? Food? Water? New bandages?"

She shook her head no and stared away from him. Miroku absentmindedly stroked Kirara's head. The sound of her purr was pleasant. "Why do you really want to do it, Houshi-sama? Why do you want to save someone who's... broken?" Tears dripped down her cheeks. "I'm not worth saving. You should just let me go. Let me go be with my family. They're all waiting for me."

"Then they will just have to wait. You're not dead yet, Sango."

"But I want to be." Her voice was barely above a whisper. Miroku had to lean closer to hear her. "I don't know how I can do this. I don't know how I can live with this. I'm the last, Houshi-sama."

"And if I don't have a child, Sango, then I will be the last as well. That's why we fight. We fight because we are the last. I have seen you fight, Sango. Do you really want to die here, in a cave like this, or do you want to show the world what it means to be a demon slayer?"

Despite herself, Sango slowly managed to smile. "You're just trying to make me feel better, Houshi-sama."

"I am, but I mean what I say. I could be saying it in a much different way, Sango. You know that. But I won't act like that around you. I don't want to lead you on."

"No flirting with me, then, Houshi-sama?"

"No. You're my friend, Sango, and someone I respect." He reached out and took her hand. "I would never lead on your heart when it is your spirit that needs healing. Believe me, Sango, I may be trying to persuade you, but I am doing it honestly."

Sango closed her eyes. She didn't agree to do anything. Finally she said, "It's good, you know."

"What is?"

"The fact that you think of me as your friend. I'm not the same person you knew, Houshi-sama. That part of me is gone. I don't know where she is. I feel so empty... and so cold. It frightens me. I frighten myself."

Miroku said nothing; he didn't quite know what to say. He stayed with Sango while she fell asleep again before he decided to leave. Already he could feel himself going back on his word. He would be funny, and charming, and witty for Sango. He would help her to smile again, to be the girl he had met in the village. What did he care if he fell in love with her along the way? It wouldn't matter. if his life was forfeit, what did he care if he loved her when he died? He would be dead. He would be spared the pain of loss. And Sango would smile again.

That was all that mattered.

* * *

To be Continued...


	6. Epilogue

Epilogue

Sango could still remember the first time that Miroku asked her to bear his child. She remembered sitting on the steps of a small hut, and Miroku took her hands, and began to ask her that horrid question. Sango had been furious. Hadn't he told her only a few weeks ago that he would refrain from being flirtatious with her? Hadn't he promised her to be honest with her? She had been so mad that she had slapped him without thinking, lashing out.

He had taken it calmly, even laughingly. Since then, she had seen him rub his sore cheek with an expression almost bordering on pleasure. She sometimes wondered why, but always wrote it off as his base humor. He liked to grab her, and if he had to bear her retribution for those perverted gropes, then he would. There was little Sango could do about it, exept perhaps to remove the offending hands—it was something she had often considered.

But before it had grown to become almost a comical routine, it had worried her. She was agressive and snarly at times, and at others withdrawn and anti-social. She could still feel that she was not whole yet—that she was unbalanced. It was not until she laughed for the first time that she began to feel like she was truly herself, and that she first began to feel something for Miroku again.

It began slowly, and almost as it had before. She saw him hurt defending her. She helped him back to health. She exercised with him. She grew to respect him, even if she still glowered whenever he flirted with someone else out of disapproval.

As for Miroku, he thought that he would be able to let Sango go. He yearned so much for her to be whole again. He worried that the attention he showed her could still lead her astray; to cause him to become the string that held her together, and so he was sure to often flirt with women in front of her, to keep her from depending on him too much. So long as she thought his gestures that of a lecher, he was satisfied that she would not grow to love him while learning at the same time that hurt and scarred as she was, she was beautiful.

Meeting Kuranosuke had made Miroku think that perhaps the concept that Sango was beautiful would sink in more—that it wasn't just the lecher who found her attractive, but rich and powerful men. He had seen it as his chance to let her go, and he had, despite Kagome's attempts at intervening. But when he saw her fight the bear demon, had felt himself running before he had even thought about becoming involved, he knew that he could not possibly let Sango go. He was hers; his masterpiece, his partner. He had known then that he had indeed fallen in love with her, but he had not the courage to say it for months.

Then, one day, when he thought he was going to lose her, he told her. He asked her to live with him, to bear his children, this time with the honesty he had so long ago promised her. Her tearful, joyous acceptance had been worth waiting for. Miroku was happy; Sango was happy, and as he proved when he had failed to promise her that he would be faithful, he still knew well how to tease her.

Sango was fixed, or as fixed as she would be. She was stronger, more resilient than before. Miroku knew that hadn't done that; that had been Sango's own doing.

Spring had arrived again to Nippon, and with it Kirara, Miroku, and Sango had taken a well-deserved rest at the old site of the _taijiya_ village. Sango wanted to honor her ancestors and neighboors by replacing the flowers on their graves. Miroku had been more than happy to accompany his affianced. As they lay side by side, in separate bed rolls as Sango had requested, they talked quietly to themselves.

"I couldn't have imagined having done all this without you, Houshi-sama." Miroku loved her pet name. He smiled at her. "If you hadn't been there that night to convince me to do something... I don't think I would have made it. I was too busy wallowing in self-pity to think logically."

He reached out to brush her cheek with his thumb. Sango leaned into her touch, lowering her eyelashes and looking fetching without trying. She confided in him sometimes that she thought the old Sango wasn't back yet, but Miroku didn't mind. He loved this new Sango, and he saw the things she didn't of the old blush and secretive glances he remembered from their first days together. For a moment Miroku thought he might kiss her, but she was still soft and tender and fragile. He knew he would have to wait, and he didn't mind waiting for her.

"Sango, if I hadn't taken the road that day, I am sure our paths would have eventually crossed. And I'm sure that eventually I would have wormed my way into your good graces despite my lecherous ways." He grinned broadly. "Or perhaps even because of them."

She rolled her eyes. "I doubt very much that I would have accepted your proposal if I didn't know of the sweet man beneath the lecher."

"I guess we'll never know, Sango. I'm almost glad for it. I like the way things turned out."

Sango didn't even need to tell him that she felt the same.

Fin


End file.
